


The Scullion's Sword

by Ribbonshalos



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mercy's parents - Freeform, Minor Original Character(s), Mutual Pining, Princess!Mercy, Romance, Royal guard au, Scullion!Genji, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-06-24 09:25:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 46,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19720870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ribbonshalos/pseuds/Ribbonshalos
Summary: After Princess Angela is saved by a scullion from King Akande’s attack upon the castle, she and the scullion must find a way to take back her parents’ thrones and keep the kingdom from being conquered.





	1. Prologue/Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’m weak for Royalty/Guard AUs. This will be a slow burn, angst fest of uncertainty, and terrible but delicious acts of coming together despite their separate classes. Mercy is 22 years old, while Genji is 20 years old in this fic.

"Princess.”

Angela turns at the hush call of her title. Through the shouting and stampeding of feet outside her chamber doors, it’s a miracle she heard the young man at all. Behind a hanging curtain, decorating a seemingly blank wall, black hair sticks out. His hand reaches out to her.

“Come, quickly,” he beckons, glancing to the doors that won’t hold forever.

“Genji!” She hasn’t spoken with him in a long time. She darts to the hidden door. It’s half their size but it was perfect for when they were children sneaking around to play together. These are no longer their innocent days. “The castle is under siege. The kingdom to the east is trying to overthrow my parents.”

“I know,” he says.

The low ranking servant grabs her hand. Dirty, rough fingers keep her dainty, soft ones secure. Her heart thunders as they hunch. Creeping into the hidden hall built by her ancestors long ago for use of the royals to move without detection, Genji picks up a candle holder. The flame’s light hardly reaches her as he tugs her safely within. Dragging back the curtain, he shuts the door.

The sudden darkness fills with the princess’s pounding veins. The scullion turns back to her, sepia irises bright in the flame’s glow.

“We must find my parents,” she demands. She was entertaining her studies when the first guards alerted her of the threat. The only thing they could tell her was the king and queen was already being protected by the rest of the sentinel.

“We can’t reach them now,” his voice states firmly. His attempt to soften the blow of the unbearable truth fails. “Princess, Akande’s men have already taken the castle. It’s my duty now to protect you.”

Her eyes widen. Gently, he pushes her forward to creep through the corridor. Minutes twist through Angela’s chest like a knife. Men continue to shout, even through the stone. Genji grabs her hand when she slows for even a moment to wonder of the tide of the battle. Metal rings through the air. Arrows whistle until a scream or heavy thunk silences it. Down a slope stairwell, they break into the kitchen through another hidden door.

“Where are we going?” she asks. A panic bleeds into her voice.

They straighten their backs. No cooks or servants remain in the kitchen. Angela steps forward but almost stumbles over something on the floor. She glances down. A body of a servant lays dead. Her mouth opens but Genji’s hand clamps over her lips.

“Don’t look, Princess. Hurry.” He ushers her away. She clings to his hand as he leads her through a hallway. The stables aren’t far. He knows how to get there without eyes falling upon them. Her fingers tighten around his own.

“Where are we going, Genji?” she whispers once more. Through a servant door, they leave the stone of her home behind. Smoke rises from one corner of the castle. She doesn’t stare long, unable to as she runs with the scullion.

“To my family. They are strong, and we will protect you,” he swears on a heavy breath.

Her worry doesn’t fall upon his words. Her heart keeps returning to the throne room, begging fate to leave the king and queen unharmed.

Genji lifts her onto a white horse before hopping on in front of her. The distant fighting fades as they gallop away. Her home is left behind. The only comfort she’s allow is clinging to the backside of the scullion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stop by my tumblr ribbons-halos.tumblr.com and say hi! ♥ I post new chapters/updates on my tumblr first. It was requested that I post this fic to AO3, and so here it is.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji gathers his family and every resource he can grab to protect the princess.

The princess’s dress drapes down the horse’s flank. It’s not proper riding attire. The dark blue garment flows in an A-line, with gaping open sleeves that would almost brush against the floor. Clutching fistfuls of the scullion’s gray tunic, Angela breathes. Her lungs rush in and out, matching the galloping steed’s tempo.

The poor beast has been pushed into chasing down the sun. Late morning left her in a twisting mess of what her life was. The attack, her parents’ unknown fate, and the scullion’s swift actions happened as if in a dream.

Desperately, she wishes it all away. If she squeezes her eyes tight enough, she’ll open them to find herself in her bed, with a handmaiden already setting her morning tea on the table in her personal chambers. Her mother and father are safe. They’ll be expecting a visit from their daughter before the day’s affairs take their attention.

She does open her eyes, but the grassy plain behind the castle stretches for some time. A dirt path is worn into the ground from farmers and wayward travelers. On the horizon, a small town comes into view.

No. Her father already kissed her hair this morning. Her mother’s soft hands cradled her face and asked if she slept well.

This is her reality now.

Genji rides furiously. The scullion shouts as he spurs the horse at the slightest hint of slowing. There are no men from the kingdom to the east in these parts of the lands. They simply drove a path to the castle. To take them by surprise, and to take the throne.

Her parents’ throne.

Angela’s arm wrap around the scullion with little regard of their closeness. His heated backside, covered by thin fabric, is her only comfort. His shoulders are straight and bent over the reins. Occasionally, he calls her title. Is she still with him?

It’s not a direct question. He inquires about her mind, and emotional being.

Her words fail to rise from her closing throat. Instead, she nods against his spine. He understands well enough. The rush from the horse rattles her already shaking bones. For random intervals, she wonders if her fingers are too cold, or hot. They interlock over his stomach. If his ragged tunic wasn’t so thin, she wouldn’t be hyper focusing on the defined abs just underneath her touch.

King Akande. He sent his men, his armies, to her parents’ kingdom. Months earlier, in winter, he had proposed an alliance that only suited his needs. The King and Queen refused. A warning—a threat was sent swiftly after their rejection.

They have never be a militaristic centered land. Caduceus, their kingdom, thrives in trading and farming. It does not stretch to the ocean and back, nor does its population stand as a sizable opposition, but it is built upon a stone foundation. The people love her parents. The King and Queen have always sought to better their lives, and avoid unnecessary bloodshed at all cost.

Angela has only known peace through her father and mother, and their dealings. Why would King Akande come for them, now? Has he finished conquering the rest of the nearby lands? Does their humble castle seem fit to be toppled over by his iron grasp?

“Princess.”

The scullion’s call jars her. Blinking slowly, Angela raises her head off of his shoulder blade. Any other time, she would never be so mindless, but her heart and mind grows heavy with stones.

“We’re coming close to Hanamura,” he speaks over the thundering of hoof beats. “I’m taking us around the main road as to not draw attention to you. We’ll be to my home soon.”

Hanamura. She’s mesmerized every city, town and village within Caduceus on yellow maps. This place used to be a wealthy merchant’s district when her grandfather’s father ruled. Recently, it’s fallen to less than prosperous times.

This is where the scullion’s home lies.

Lifting up her head, she sweeps the flat terrain. The main road takes a traveler directly between taverns and old accommodations. The buildings, once glamorous, barely cling to the glow of their novelty. Few people walk the cobblestone streets, and even fewer ride on horses. Their clothes more or less mimics the poorer quality the scullion dons.

Turning from the dirt path that had widen, Genji pushes the horse closer to the forest that rises in the west. Along the trees, the steed carries them. Hours have worn sores into Angela’s thighs, screaming for relief. Her time on horses have never been for so long, or with much intensity.

Her teeth clank together. Complaining of the state she’s in now is shameful. All the time riding has left her only to her thoughts. They keep circling the image of her father and mother, trapped within their own home.

They must have barricade themselves inside the throne room with their personal guards. They’re strong, they can endure assault after assault.

But what if there was no time? What if it’s already too late.

Angela closes her eyes, and squeezes her fingers.

“Princess.” His rumbling breath comfort her arms. “Are you still with me?”

Pressing her cheek in between his shoulder blades, Angela nods. He takes her answer silently. One more spur pushes the horse. Shadows fall from the trees due to the burning evening. Silently, she prays they haven’t set her home ablaze. The cold wind sweeps by, slipping into her fine dress and skin.

She straightens once more. Only a mile away resides an old stone keep. The darker roof has faded with time. Cracks and marks decorate the rock walls but it stands in pride. As if a statue from long ago, depicting an epic hero. The squarish building stands like a shell of a once noble beast.

Genji slows the horse at the iron gate entrance. The poor creature is covered in sweat, and heaving breaths as if it’s gone mad. Swiftly, he dismounts, forcing her arms to fall down to her sides, empty. He offers his hand. A glance from the old keep and the scullion’s assistance lingers until Angela collects herself.

She is the princess. She must act accordingly, and be prepared to aid her kingdom and her people.

A flood rushes, set on drowning her in unknown questions and scenarios that threaten to break her sternum. Instead, she breathes deeply. She takes his hand, just as she did when he first came for her, and dismounts.

As the harsh ground connects to her feet, Angela almost collapses. Her legs ache from riding nearly all day. A gasp echoes sharply as she stumbles into Genji’s chest, but his arms swiftly support her.

“My apologies.” She’s breathless against his collarbone.

“Princess, are you sure you’re alright?” he asks, tensing his arms. At a moment’s notice, he could lift her off her feet.

The scullion sets her right. Slowly straightening, his large hands leave an impression upon her lower back as he withdraws. She brushes down her skirt out of habit. His eyes hold her own once she lifts her chin.

“My apologies,” he murmurs. He gestures to his dirtied apron, common for every kitchen worker. His eyes fall upon her clothes. “Your dress shouldn’t get dirty.”

Her slow mind takes moments to pierce together his implication. Startled, like a bird realizing a cat is nearby, Angela parts her lips to reassure that it’s not because of his status, but he speaks before her.

“Princess, you haven’t told me if you’re alright.”

Black hair, as dark as the new moon, is cut short upon his head. A long time accustomed sweat and filth line his cheekbones. A usual mirth is suffocated underneath the harden concern set into his sepia eyes. He’s scarred from temple to chin in sword cuts. From his cheeks, over his nose and even slashing through his lips. An accident with his brother. She remembers a few handmaidens whispered a long ago. She can’t say why, but the set of his jaw holds a solemness.

He should be in lighter company, not focused on insuring the princess isn’t going to have a fainting spell.

Blood rushes her cheeks. The weakness running through her muscles isn’t her common composure. She swallows dryly, and dips her head.

“Yes. I’m just not used to riding for so long.”

“The horse needs to be put away. Can you wait here for a moment?” he asks, considerately.

“Of course,” she breathes.

She welcomes the moment to be alone, carelessly expressing her emotions across her face. The scullion quickly tugs the horse to a small barn tucked beside the stone keep. She stands before the iron gate entrance. All at once, in the isolation, the earth pulls her bones and veins to the dirt. The dark center within the world whispers of her lost and weak soul.

A thickness covers her throat. She swallows past the lump it creates. Breathing, slowly in and out, she pulls taunt the invisible mask and armor that royals wear. Composure, confidence, and grace.

Her mother never wore a mask. It was simply a part of her skin. She could stand before crowds and speak in a clear, echoing voice, like a church bell. There was nothing that shrank or shriveled within the Queen at the pressure.

Her dear mother. Angela wants to sob for her like a child.

She must appear as strong, until she can return to her parents and home again.

Genji swiftly returns. Again, he asks if she’s still with him. She nods. Opening the gate, the iron croaks as if waking from death. Into the foyer, high arching ceilings illuminate with rusted, black chandeliers. The little light chases away the night as the scullion escorts her. He does so slowly, as her pace does not grow with energy or purpose.

“I’m bringing you to my father and brother,” he says.

Angela nods silently. The once grand home lies in shadows as Genji takes a candlestick from a table pressed against the wall. A large, arching door is pushed open into what could have been a great dining hall. At the far end, a fire crackles as two decorated chairs are angled towards it. A fur rug lays on the floor in front of the hearth. Her lungs fill slowly as the scullion guides her forward.

In the red, flickering light of the fireplace, an older man sits sharply. Although age touches gray along his black hair and presses crinkles along his mouth and eyes, he is still firm and formal. He rises to his feet when Genji and Angela cross into the orange illumination. Her gold necklace, a pendant of her family’s crest, reflects fire and status.

“Genji,” the man speaks in a rich voice, fit for spinning stories just before sleeping. “What is the meaning of this? Who is…”

His voice trails off as his eyes, brown, but a deeper hue than his son’s, fall upon her face. He humbly bows before her.

“Your Highness,” he greets in reverence. Her bones feel wrong with the formal title in such a time of crisis. He straightens with a heavy question sweeping between the two younger people.

“Princess,” Genji begins, “Allow me to introduce my father, Sojiro Shimada.”

She dips her head in respect, to which the man bows again.

“Please, that is not necessary,” Angela holds out one hand in reassurance. “I do not want to impose as a guest in your home.”

She has met with the scullion’s father before. When he did work within the castle, it was overseeing the servants and other duties, insuring everything is getting done as needed. She’s walked in on a conversation between him and her own father on several occasions. His work has never been less than brilliant.

“How has my home come to be honored with your presence,” Sojiro asks in a rumbling cord, but his gaze lands upon Genji sharply.

Angela lowers her chin, silently letting Genji explain. He does so. After giving her a seat in front of the fireplace, Genji tells of King Akande’s attack. His men overran the castle. There is no word on the King and Queen. For now, with her heart skipping a beat, they assume their personal guard are fortifying them in the throne room, but there is not a lot of time.

There are too many unknowns. Did King Akande travel with his army? Are the King and Queen still alive? They eat away at her ribs like the fire destroying the logs into ash.

After a few questions are exchange between father and son, they lapse into silence. She doesn’t look to them. The flames dance in distraction.

“Your son saved my life,” Angela breaks her quiet with a look to Sojiro.

“As is our duty to your family,” Sojiro speaks, but a faint glimmer of pride resonates in his deep irises. He returns to Genji. “We must protect the princess, but here isn’t safe anymore.”

“Why not?” Genji demands in surprise. “Where is Hanzo?”

“He will return before morning, but there have already been soldiers marching through Hanamura,” he answers briskly. “Many did not trust them to be from our kingdom’s. I was right to be suspicious. King Akande refuses to let this land go peacefully while he can easily overtake it.”

A black thought crosses her mind towards the king. It startles her enough to reflect on her mother’s kind words, and her father’s refuse to submit to a war waging nation.

“What are we to do?” Genji’s voice raises slightly. She feels his glance fall onto her shoulders.

“Protect the princess,” his father answers sharply, then gives, “with more men and defenses. If King Akande’s forces haven’t discover the princess missing yet, they will soon. This is a slight advantage we still hold.”

“Where is safe, and who can we trust to aid us?” the scullion is quick to formulate the beginning of a working plan.

Her mind falls back to the personal guard that should be protecting her parents at this very moment. There are soldiers still in her kingdom, although very little to hold against an army. They have all been trained by a brave knight, who has conversed on multiple occasions with her father and mother in regards to protecting these lands. A noble himself, he has lead forces on her father’s behalf when the outer edges of Caduceus were attacked by King Akande’s army in past years.

“Reinhardt, the lion knight,” Angela speaks up. Both Genji and Sojiro look to her. Flickering flames cross their curious expressions as she gathers breath. “He is a close ally to the throne. His home is a stronghold that lies at the other end of the kingdom. He will have men, and defenses. He can take back the castle, and free my parents from King Akande’s siege.”

Her heartbeat strengthens at the thought alone. Sojiro, calm, weighs her words.

“That is your best strategy, Your Highness,” he speaks. “To keep the crown alive with you is what is most important. Taking you to Reinhardt, and joining with his forces, will allow you a foothold in the battle against King Akande.”

Battle. The word shakes her core. Her and her parents’ kingdom hasn’t seen war in generations of the Ziegler bloodline. Will that peace shatter upon the temples of her head? If there was ever a moment to lead, the king would take his men to battle. Not a princess who knows nothing of the sword.

No. That doesn’t matter. The question of war falls behind the uncertainty of her parents’ safety. That first, above all else, must be answered.

“There are no royal guards at your disposal, but my sons will escort you just as valiantly to Reinhardt’s stronghold,” Sojiro decrees. At his side, Genji’s face remains molded in determination, as if he made this decision long ago.

“You have my gratitude,” her voices falls into a meek whisper, “and will be properly rewarded when this ordeal has passed.”

At least in all of this, she has protection, and people willing to stand by her side with sword and shield. The scullion and his father both settle the matter, and proceed to speak of supplies. It will take weeks to arrive to Reinhardt’s stronghold, even on horseback.

When the mention of the need for more horses arises, Angela slips a platinum ring from her finger. How could she expect this family to give her everything, much less their already precious money?

“Take this to gather what we need.” She presses the jewelry into Genji’s palm. A frown touches his scarred mouth, wanting to refuse, but there is no time.

Sojiro decides firmly. The comfort of being told what to do, free from thinking, lets Angela fall into a false lake of security. It will dry away when morning comes, but she dips into it all the same. Her mind is too worn to care for much else.

Sojiro takes the ring, and at his direction, Genji escorts Angela to a bed chamber. In the once glorious keep, the candlelight casts deep shadows. They must rest for they will rise early and leave Hanamura at dawn. His brother, Hanzo, will be joining their expedition as well. Another servant in the family. He found work elsewhere, outside of the castle when he became a man. What it is now, Angela doesn’t know.

Genji pulls open a black door for her. Within, a room half the size of her own greets her with simple amenities and coarse decorations. It is nothing of her personal chambers at home, but this isn’t her home.

“This is all I can offer you tonight,” he says, apologetic. His eyes follow her as she nears the bed. A color of concern illuminates in his irises. “Do you think you’ll be able to get some rest?”

“Yes. Thank you,” she murmurs. She must do her best. Her hand touches the lone pillow that has worn with time and use. A few threads are already loosen, threatening to burst with downy feathers.

“My brother and I know the way of the sword,” his voice carries its will while setting the candlestick on a tall dresser. Quietly, he crosses the room to the opposite wall. There, a stand holds a sheath sword, which he takes. Returning to the drawer, he begins withdrawing tunics. “I know we are just scullions, but we will serve you well.”

She turns, meeting his gaze in the candlelight. There was never a doubt in her mind of his and his family’s capabilities. Her chamber windows pointed to the open field around the castle. Since Sojiro first brought his sons to the castle to work, he has taken them outside at dusk. Angela witnessed the two young boys sparring and was captivated. Silently, she watched in the night as a father taught his sons.

Servants only hold daggers for self defense. Where the play swords went after they were done training is never answered. She knows that the scullion is skilled. Despite his status, he holds himself strong.

“You and your family have my complete faith,” she lifts her chin, conveying confidence over her own turmoil. “I would not have taken your hand otherwise.”

In the flickering light, his brow softens. Gently, he bows to her.

Here she is, centered upon herself as Genji risks his brother and father and his own life just for her sake. He questions his worth because he does not carry gold around his neck. She must stop being so ignorant of others.

“Rest, Princess,” he says. “I must make preparations for our journey tomorrow, but if you need anything, you must only shout into the hallway. I’ll hear you.”

Her heart swells. Overwhelmed, she lowers her head as he takes his gathered items and closes the door. The candles still burn, casting her in a gentle glow. She’s left in her own solitude.

Her thoughts have tumbled over the day too much already. Her sore legs, weary arms and burden heart sink onto the poor bedding. Tomorrow will only be more so of this.

It is only when she is tucked underneath the blanket, and noticing a distant scent of musk in the cloth, that Angela realizes she is taking Genji’s bed.

*

A knock connects to the door.

For a blissful moment, when consciousness first touches her brain, Angela believes she’s still in her powerful home, safe and comforted by her royal parents’ treatments. Then, the knots in her backside tighten. Her muscles throughout her legs are stiff and sore, refusing to move. There is no ‘good morning’ from handmaidens as they prepare her a cup of tea and a warm bowl of water to clean her face.

This is the scullion’s home. She lies in his bed as he could give nothing else.

Shame spills into her chest at her wallowing. Another knock breaks through the silence. Lavender clouds spill across the sky through the small window as the sun has yet to rise.

“Princess,” a safe voice calls.

Still in her dress from the day before, Angela stumbles to her feet. Her hair is a mess, laying down over her shoulders. She must do something with it before it drives her mad. Opening the door, she meets Genji. He stands tall in a new tunic and wool leggings. From his waist hangs a belt and sheath. Not quite like the armored guards that surround her castle, but something just as strong.

“We must hurry,” he says. In his hands, he offers a slice of bread and a chunk of cheese. She takes it, eating in a routine motion as she follows him.

He tells her of the soldiers spilling into the town overnight. His brother, Hanzo, waits with their horses and supplies. Her ring gave them plenty to reach Reinhardt’s stronghold, but Sojiro grows grim at how many of Akande’s men are stepping into Caduceus. They must be careful.

With this, Genji gives her a simple riding dress and cloak. It was part of the supplies they gathered. She must hide in plain sight. In a closed off room, Angela removes her royal dress, like parting with a piece of herself. Donning the scratchy wool and cotton in a muted green, she slips her necklace underneath her dress. Partly out of the heavy comfort the crest of her family gives, and partly in the emergency that they’ll need more money. Her rings stay too, for the same reason.

She ties her hair up, letting the strands fall like a horse’s tail. Fixing the dark brown cloak, a hood will serve to hide her white gold hair as needed.

She breathes for one precious second. Her gold necklace still weighs down on her neck. Just like her royal blood, she hides underneath thin cloth.

They must make it to Reinhardt. They must take his men to her home, and run off those who threaten her parents.

Genji calls softly from just outside the doors. He still waits on her, even now. Gathering her breath and composure, Angela steps out. Her shoulders are straight, her head is held high. His lips part slowly, as if taking in her less formal appearance with awe, instead of disappointment as she anticipated.

“Are you ready, Princess?” he only asks. His hand falls to the hilt of his sword as a black cloak covers his shoulders as well. The image that comes to mind is of an assistant, someone deadly but unsuspecting.

And so he is.

“Yes.” She pauses. “Where is Sojiro?”

“He won’t be journeying with us,” he explains. They start to the front gate of his home. “My father is writing letters to nobles across the land to call for their assistance in your name. The people should know that you are alive, and that King Akande does not control all of the royals.”

Her throat grows dry at such a thought. Her stomach twists as well, but with worry and hunger at once. The bread and cheese wasn’t much. She’s never had to wonder for a meal, or desperately needed something before. It was always there at her call.

Enough. She will focus on Genji and Hanzo, and insure they all make it to Reinhardt’s stronghold without failure. Her parents and kingdom depends on this. She will not falter because she is ignorant of hardship.

She can adapt, like calluses growing on a palm to protect itself. Genji and his brother will be at her side as well. She is the princess. This is her duty.

Genji brings her to the front of the keep. A young man, Hanzo, she assumes, bows respectively at her appearance.

“Your Highness,” he greets. His hair falls to his shoulders but is swept back in a neat ponytail. A carefully groomed goatee covers his lower face. In clothes mirroring Genji’s, he stands ready. “It is my younger brother’s and I’s honor to serve you like this. We will escort you to Reinhardt’s stronghold in safety.”

“Thank you, Hanzo,” Angela dips her head in acceptance. “Please, no more formalities. We must focus on not being found out.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” His sharper face holds similarities to Genji, but is superior in a way only an older brother can. Underneath his black cloak, a quiver and arrow wrap across his back.

“Actually,” she continues slowly as the thought comes to mind. Genji stops at her voice. “You should refer to me by a different name.”

If anyone were to overhear ‘Princess’ or, ‘Your Highness’, she would be known in seconds. After a brief, shared glance, the brothers agree.

“What would you like us to call you while we are traveling, Princess” Genji asks.

The wings decorating the pendant on her necklace presses against her breastbone. Angela lifts her chin.

“Mercy.”

She is her people’s mercy. The name also won’t stand out against other common names among the kingdom, like Faith, Charity, and other similar feminine names.

“Mercy,” Genji breathes, nodding once. “Let’s go on our way.”

The sun is just breaking across the horizon as Genji helps her onto a saddled and supplied weighed horse. Hanzo and Genji then climb onto theirs. Hers is a mare with a red coat and black mane. She rides smoothly, and obeys every tug of the reins. Genji’s geldings has a dapple dark gray coat, while Hanzo’s horse is the one they rode from the castle, rested now. A gelding as well, with a pale cream colored coat and a clean white mane.

How they managed this all in one night eludes her, but her faith only grows with the Shimada’s abilities. Through the black smog of it all, she finds light. It is dim and small, but it still cuts through the hopeless fear that all is lost.

When they near Hanamura, Genji slows their party for a moment.

“Princess,” he says, gesturing to her cloak, “It would be best if you hide your hair. It’s difficult to not notice.”

She drops the reins, noting how his eyes fall against her white gold strands as she takes her hood. Raising it over her skull, she becomes another traveler. Hanzo and Genji lift their own. Already, from upon their horses, they can spy foreign soldiers marching through Hanamura.

“Remember, address me as Mercy,” Angela reminds.

“When others are near, yes,” Genji agrees. Somehow, she expects to still hear her proper title on his tongue.

They have a chance. They ride out towards it now while avoiding Akande’s soldiers. The two men ride at both sides of her horse, guarding her like gold as they trot away from the dark stone keep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji and Hanzo are determined to take Princess Angela to Reinahrdt’s stronghold. Their journey, however, holds many obstacles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part has Genji’s POV throughout most of it, setting up his regards to the whole situation and of course, the princess herself. Just to give a little insight to his character in this AU.

The sun rides with them through the morning. Avoiding the main road, Hanzo directs their small party of three towards a similar path Genji took when bringing the princess to their keep. A simple road of dirt that only locals know to take.

To his left, Princess Angela carries herself underneath her cloak and hood. Their horses keep pace as they push them quickly through the outskirts of a nearby, smaller town. Between Hanamura and Reinhardt’s stronghold, they have much ground to cover. What’s more alarming is how many more foreign soldiers are marching through the streets. Golden armored and red clothed soldiers stand out, like sickly spots on human flesh. The people are closing their doors and avoiding outside contact, murmuring of the attack King Akande is preparing to unleash upon all of Caduceus.

Princess Angela’s eyes fall on the horizon. A day’s ride would take her back to the castle. Her heavy brow moves past him and to whatever her mind imagines is happening in her home now.

Genji’s grip hardens around leather reins. The news of King Akande’s attempt of a treaty between his own kingdom and Caduceus was carried out in the winter months. Now in warmer days, and after rejection, he simply sends his armies storming into their lands. A red hot pulse in his chest knows that it wouldn’t have mattered if the King and Queen submitted to King Akande’s demands. They would have been overtaken regardless.

They have not fallen yet. The opportunity to fight and raise up their rightful leaders falls upon Genji’s and Hanzo’s shoulders. If Princess Angela breathes, there is hope. Her golden hair hides now but he knows its shine. Far above an crown that can be placed upon royal temples. He’s stared at her before, when he was nothing but a piece of the background.

His worry rose at her first stumble off of the horse when they arrived at his home. She seemed shaken, but her words were firm and her head stayed high. It caught him off guard. Her world is crashing down but she’s composed. There was the slightest tremble in her lips but she didn’t give in. Her anguish isn’t something familiar to his heart that he can give consolation to, but he offers himself as protection and comfort.

She’s stronger than she looks, Genji thinks to himself. He gives a glance to her soft hands holding the reins, and her still chin just visible outside of the shadow of the hood.

How could he be surprised. She’s meant to become a queen one day.

Hanzo’s keen eyes sweep over every passerby that takes the same road as them. Most are nearby villagers and farmers. One or two merchants come along with their cows pulling carts. His presence alone gives Genji reassurance that they can take the princess across the land without harm. His bow and arrow has always been better, but Genji’s sword hand has grown strong after Hanzo refused to touch a blade again. In their combined skills, little force can stop them, whether near or far ranged. Genji places his life on this, if not the princess’s.

His brother agreed in a single heartbeat when their father met him in the dead of night. He just came back from his new position of tending a richer man’s horses. His new job after he left the castle. Of course he agreed. Escorting the princess to the lion knight is their family’s one escape from lower class and meekness.

There was a brief moment Genji had with Sojiro. He took him him aside, just outside of his own bedroom, where he left the princess to rest. In his older age, his father has grown tired. Now, he places his hand on his shoulder with figure. Genji almost doesn’t know how to bare its weight.

“This is our redemption, Genji,” he spoke, lowering his voice. “You and Hanzo will protect the princess at all costs. When you return her to the King and Queen, the Shimada bloodline will be granted knighthood again. I know you understand the importance of this duty you have graciously been given.”

What came to his mind then was the stories of his many great grandfathers. They protected the kings and queens of old Caduceus, fighting the fiercest assassins and foes. The Shimadas were never meant to be slowly scullions. What runs through their blood pumps for so much more honorable, glorious deeds. They are to be tested for their kingdom and their rulers.

“I know,” Genji had said. He understands exactly what this is. Why Hanzo and Sojiro are so swift to give their efforts to the princess.

They can rise to what their family once was. They can take back their honor.

However, Genji thoughts didn’t drift to donning silver armor when he first ran up the hidden passageway. His heart didn’t gallop in his chest because of holding a sword in the name of royalty. No. He feared the color of her blood spilling from her pale skin.

He still does. There is only him and his brother to protect the princess against armies of opposition. King Akande is known for his ruthlessness and bloody victories. What he would do to those who stood in his way is horrifying to speak of.

Genji will not fail her, or his family. If she is lost, so is all else. He won’t allow her to fall, not while his heart still beats and his blood still runs through his veins.

There isn’t much words through the early noon day. Any exchanges happen between Genji and Hanzo as they gauge and guess which town and which roads would be safest. If Akande already has more men pooling into Caduceus, they must assume most cities are dangerous.

Princess Angela doesn’t speak as they ride. Her eyes lift repeatedly to the horizon, where the castle would be. In the shadow of her hood, she hides a heavy essence. Her shoulders don’t fall nor does she lose her grip on the reins, but she is somber. On his tongue, words of comfort rest, tasteless, but that is something a child is told to simply be calmed down. Neither of them are young anymore.

The fate of the King and Queen is unknown, but their strength has carried them through decades. Surely they could endure the siege until reinforcement arrives. His hope may be desperate, but he still holds it. If not for the kingdom’s sake, then her sake.

“Princess,” he says. Already, he’s insure no one is within earshot as he calls her proper title. She lifts her gaze, almost as if to say something against it, but thinks better of it. “Are you still with me?”

She dips her head once, hiding underneath her hood before reappearing again with a slightly more willful expression.

“Yes… I need water.”

Hanzo moves to reach for her saddle, as her mare carries all of their sustenance. While preparing the horses, he and his brother agreed it would be best to leave the essentials with the princess. Just in the situation that she had to take off on her horse and leave them behind.

“We’ll take a break,” Genji announces, stopping his horse. They’ve rode long enough. A quick flash of relief touches her cheekbones at that. He hasn’t ridden his long before either, more accustomed to working on his feet.

“Genji—” Hanzo begins.

“We need a moment to eat and drink,” Genji interrupts. A cutting look falls from his elder brother.

Off to the side of the dirt road, a small patch of grass gathers. He nudges his horse in that direction.

“It will only be a few moments,” Princess Angela speaks. She pushes her horse after Genji into a few precious shadows. Hanzo immediately stills.

“Yes, Your Highness,” he gives stiffly. Clearly displeased but unable to refuse the princess.

His sharp eyes go down the dirt path that curves around a thick woods they’ve been traveling along. As much as Genji and he would like to push on, they must stil mind their needs, and the princess. He relents and gives in to joining them.

Swiftly, Genji dismounts his horse and comes to Princess Angela’s side. She looks down from her saddle as he raises his hand in offer. Through the green leaves above, sunlight and shadows dance across his face. Her expression lightens at his gesture, as if he hasn’t done it before. As her fingers flip into his own, he’s reminded of the scars decorating his face like a curse. How does she see those when he helps her off of his horse? Is he a pitiful servant, or simply a marked man who will never run from his permanent expression?

“Thank you, Genji,” she breathes as her feet touch the ground.

On reflex, he hovers. After she stands steadily on her own, growing use to their long lasting riding, Genji lets go of her hand and steps away.

“Hanzo, can you get the flask?”

Still upon his horse, Hanzo brings his gelding beside the princess’s mare, and frees the water flask from the saddle side. Tossing it to Genji, he catches it easily. He offers it to Princess Angela. In quiet gratitude, she takes it.

Hanzo and Genji share a flask of water. They kneel for a few minutes over the grass, pooling over a map of Caduceus. Busan, a trading district, is still a day’s journey away. They’ll pass through it by next evening if they keep a strict pace. The princess’s stare keeps landing on himself, then his brother as she walks, stretching her limbs. She then stands still, petting the mare’s face. Genji’s attention falls away from Hanzo’s next words due to the gentle caresses her fingers give to the horse’s fur. Finding comfort in a warm body that breathes evenly.

Deciding that Busan is their swiftest route, they eat a few apples and split a bread loaf between the three of them. Genji presses the long grass down in the shade of a tree for the Princess to rest on. In his ever diligent manner, Hanzo stands, leaning against the bark of one tree while scanning the nearby dirt road.

If they can keep this speed, they’ll be able to reach Reinhardt’s stronghold in four weeks time. Genji tosses an apple core into the trees while mentally recounting the number of soldiers filling the streets of Hanamura. Akande’s men have left the lesser towns and villages in peace. If there’s any reason for his people to stop three travelers on their way, Genji can only come up with wanting to steal their money or supplies, or just general harassment.

Where have the rest of Caduceus’s forces gone? Have they flocked to the castle to protect their King and Queen? Who will take charge if the princess is with them and the King and Queen have fallen? Why was there so little resources given to protect her when the castle was under siege? She should have more than just two brothers guarding her.

A moment of stark graveness cuts through his ribs that they are already protecting their queen. Nothing on his expression betrays his thoughts when Princess Angela looks to him.

Distant hoof beats echo in the dirt. In an instant, Hanzo straightens, shifting his cloak to hide his reach for his bow and arrow. Genji steels his thoughts, rising to his feet to face the lone traveler on horseback. A simple farmer, by the looks of it. His skin is burnt by the sun and wrinkles mark him with age. He slows his horse to a stop on the dirt path. He takes a moment to overlook their party as Princess Angela subtly turns her head so he can only see her hood.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he calls.

“Good afternoon,” Hanzo replies, but his voice is less than pleasant.

Subtly, Genji brings his stance between the man’s vision and the princess. Lowering his hand to her, she takes it and stands. Her soft touch brings marvels to his rough palm. All the while keeping her face angled away. At the shadow of his side, she stays. His hands remain steady, away from his sheathed sword. This isn’t an enemy, but he and Hanzo are ready. There is no gambling they can place on the princess’s golden hair.

“Have you heard of the kingdom from the east invading our lands?” he asks.

“Yes, but we do not know much,” Hanzo still speaks. “Is there any news you have heard?”

“Only that foreign soldiers are taking to our streets. What little men we have left protecting the kingdom advise us to stay hidden away.” The man sorrowfully lowers his gaze. “It seems peace couldn’t be ours forever.”

The time for peace is long gone. It’s been gone since the first soldier swept into the castle looking to behead the royals. There is only attack and defend now, and Genji is going to accomplish the later.

“Do you know of any news regarding the King and Queen?” Hanzo asks.

Princess Angela lifts her head at that. Her eyes, like oceans, fall upon the man in a silent plea.

“No. Some have already given up on our King and Queen, but not me.” The man puts a fist over his chest. “I’m looking to join ranks against King Akande’s assault. I know the King and Queen are fighting now, and so must I.”

Genji furrows his brow at the older man’s age. His fight isn’t here anymore, but he seeks a way to battle back.

A thundering realization dawns on him. Neither is this a scullion’s fight, but he’s protecting the princess all the same. Perhaps his judgement is too quick to be passed.

“Is that your wife?”

Genji blinks at the man’s attention as it lands between them both.

“Yes,” he answers in a quick breath.

Hanzo only gives him a glance. Although a flame of fire licks Genji’s tongue for speaking so quickly, it’s better to not leave lingering questions about mysterious figures. It would be easy to think back on them if this man was ever interrogated about a specific party of three.

Princess Angela stirs slightly, but keeps quiet.

“Keep her close. King Akande’s men are ruthless, and take what they find pretty.”

Ruthless. The word pierces into his skin, agitating him to the point that he turns his head back to the princess. Her eyes widen at the implication before touching a stray lock of hair that fell into her face. She looks away, but doesn’t step back from Genji’s side.

The man on horseback bids them a farewell before continuing on. When he leaves their view, Hanzo is already mounting his horse.

“Your Highness, let’s hurry along,” he says.

“Of course,” she murmurs.

In sync, they step to her horse. Again, Genji offers his hand as she mounts. Once she’s properly situational, and her dress falls properly over her legs, she stalls for a moment. Taking the reins, she looks down.

“Princess—”

“There is no need to explain yourself, Genji,” she interrupts quickly. “We must say what we need to for now. My only concern is what these evil men are doing to my people.”

His heartbeat slows. Minuscule worries of his proper conduct towards her isn’t what matters now. Still, its value doesn’t leave Genji’s soul. He ducks his head before mounting his own horse.

“Their invasion will be brutal,” Genji finally finds his voice. “But we can put an end to it once we bring you to Reinhardt and his men.”

His words are paperweight, but Princess Angela nods all the same. Fixing her hood, Hanzo spurs them onwards. They fall back into their previous formation, Genji on her right side, and Hanzo on her left.

Their horses keep a steady trot until sundown. As deepening shadows stretch across the woods they travel along, they find a grassy spot to lay their bedrolls down for the night. Genji had intended to find a tent for the princess, but there were none on hand to be bought. Again, they must work with their circumstances, although neither Genji or Hanzo delight at sleeping near a woman without some form of barrier.

Their food doesn’t need to be cook, and wanting to remain hidden, they eat by moonlight. Huddled beside him, Princess Angela keeps glancing to the darkness.

“I’ll take the first watch,” Genji says to Hanzo, who has had less sleep than him in the past two days. His older brother nods, before facing the princess.

“My brother and I will take shifts through the night so we aren’t caught by surprise,” he explains. “You can rest without worry, Your Highness.”

“Oh,” she breathes. Her gaze sweeps between them before clearing her throat. “I can take a shift as well, so you both can have more rest.”

“It’s our duty,” Genji interjects. They have to properly uphold their roles as guards of the princess if they wish to continue to do so in the future. “We’ll be coming upon Busan tomorrow evening, and Akande’s soldiers will most likely be infecting its streets. Hanzo and I will be ready, but you only need to rest.”

Dipping his head in confident, Hanzo agrees. Her jaw works but she raises no objections. There is no more room to argue as Hanzo spreads out his bedroom just a few feet away towards the wooded area, and lies down. His back faces them both. Princess Angela already sits on her bedroll, anxiously rubbing her thumbs into her palms.

“I feel useless,” she confesses. In the silver light, blessed by the full moon, her features are thrown into haunting shadows. Her brow plunges deep into a concerned furrow. “You and your brother—your entire family is doing so much for me and I haven’t even raised a finger.”

“Princess, I don’t mean to dismiss you, but your presence alone is doing more for the kingdom than either my brother or I,” Genji gives, hoping his reassurance doesn’t fall flat.

Genji gets to his feet. He was only a foot away from her, but he crosses the little space to where the saddles reside. The horses are tethered to a strong tree, feeding on the grass or standing still in the darkness. He frees two water flasks, and returns to her side. Offering the water, she takes it in silence. The deep lines etch into her skin smooth out every so slightly.

They both drink. Quietly in the night, her eyes fall back to the black woods. He takes the flask back once she finishes, and returns them to their rightful place. Still standing, Genji finds a nearby tree easily in her view. He leans one shoulder into it and rests one hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Are you afraid?” he finds himself asking. She still sits up, like a bird aware of danger but unable to see the cat in the tall grass. Quickly, he adds, “Princess?”

She almost starts at the question. Her hood falls down her backside, freeing her hair. Her darker green riding dress clings to her form. It’s not the rich blue that once decorated her, but it is beautiful simply because it is on her person. Genji would marvel at the fact, but doesn’t wish to stare.

“No…” Another glance to the woods gives herself away. “Not entirely. I… I have never been without a large company surrounding me. When my parents and I left the castle walls, we had a horde of guards, and then servants at our sides. There was always so many people nearby. It was crowded, but it was a crowd that one could get lost in.”

Lost? How could one lose sight of her, even among a hundred people? Genji ponders the idea as she presses her lips into a thin line.

He lacks an army, and proper assistance to give her. He is not what she first would have chose to protect her, but he gives himself. A scarred scullion, but one who will do what it takes to escort her to her rightful home.

He is not donned in shiny armor with a royal sword, but his heart believes that it will be enough, for his family, and her.

“Please don’t misunderstand, I know you and your brother are sufficient for the task at hand, but it’s all so different. Everything is,” she breathes.

A heaviness falls with her words, like fog into air. Somehow, he feels the weight. What they do now will forever alternate their history. If Genji succeeds in protecting the princess, his family’s honor and former glory will be restored. If he fails, Caduceus will be without mercy at the feet of King Akande. He would have lost the princess.

This weight strengthens his limbs, rather than presses him into the ground. He shifts slightly, finding her blue gaze in gray, dim moonlight.

“It is,” Genji agrees quietly, then says, “but not everything is. You are still the princess. Caduceus waits for you. It is our duty to guard you.”

Even during his work in the kitchen, every servant was expected to lay down their lives for the royal family if it was called for. He would never wish for these events to happen, but he rises to the occasion. He still keeps his oath.

A ghost of a smile touches her lips. His heartbeat rises. A gentle thing, even in the darkest of times aside from the stars and moon, can exist.

“I can’t express my gratitude enough, Genji,” she says, quietly.

“That isn’t needed, Princess.”

She lowers her gaze. Slowly, she lifts her necklace from the cover of her simple dress, and clutches the pendant in her palm. His eyes dart away a second to late, catching the slightest view of one of her collarbones. He has to swallow roughly to push down any impure thoughts.

The pure gold wings filling the circular space are detailed with hundreds of feathers. The Ziegler crest still marks her, her only comfort. Genji has no token of his family save for the sword at his side. Its hilt is firm in his grasp, promising swift action if he ever draws it. That is what his bloodline is meant to carry; swords and armor for only the kings and queens, and this one princess.

“Lay down, Princess,” he gives softly like a moonbeam. “You have my word nothing fearsome will emerge from the trees this night.”

His grin makes its way to the tugging corners of her lips. It fades quickly though, like footprints in the mud. Quietly, she nods.

He stands still, like an owl perched high in a tree, surveying the field for prey. The princess rests her head down, taking a simple wool blanket around her shoulders. In the sudden silence and close proximity, his gaze falls back to her lying form with every search in the darkness, like clockwork. Her hair falls across the bedroll even in its tie, spilling like threads of gold. She faces away, curling up as if to surround the pendant still in her grasp.

Hanzo has long since been asleep. Soon enough, only steady breaths lift in the night. Genji follows the line of the moon. It creeps gracefully across the sky as company while Genji stands guard. His only attention should be on anything or anyone daring to come upon them in the middle of the night, but wonders slip into his mind like a dream.

Does she remember?

They were both young, but she had two years of age over him. The memory wouldn’t be too far from her, but its importance might drastically vary.

She didn’t question how he knew of the hidden passageway. When he came for her, she only hesitated in concern for her parents, not towards the scarred scullion with whom she hasn’t spoken to. She took his hand, like slipping a velvet glove into his callous, rough palm.

When they were children, she was the first friend he made. It was only his second day in the castle, performing menial tasks whenever the cook barked at him. Their lives, as his father explained it, is not meant for someone who is less. They are to bear their punishment from his six great grandfather until they can atone.

He didn’t care to atone for anything at that age. He only wanted to leave the wretched kitchen in favor of finding something fun to do.

Then the princess appeared. Her height was an inch over his own but she looked at him all the same. As if she shared his shock of finding someone who could be a playmate. Someone who didn’t care for status or proper etiquette, but simply wanted to exist as they were. Children.

His fingers rub over the hilt of his weapon. The question burns in his gut, longing to burst free into breath and flame. It’s not the time to ask, and he wouldn’t want to be met with her confusion towards the question. The precious memory has lingered in the back of his skull, but perhaps, it was just a blurry day from her youth.

Why would it matter to her to remember a simple servant boy?

Genji leans his other shoulder into the tree. He still stands, watching the moon. The princess and his brother sleep quietly. Their breaths alone keep the rhythm of his heart in check.

He can’t fret over things in the past. The present is unfurling many paths before him, and he must take the correct one, least everyone be wounded for it.

When the moon touches the apex of the sky, Genji wakes Hanzo. His brother grumbles a question of if anything happening, but all is quiet. He gets to his feet. Giving up his bedroll to his younger brother, Hanzo shifts the dagger he was sleeping with to his other palm, and slips on his quiver and bow.

The rest of the night stays quiet as Genji faces away from the princess, drifting into unconsciousness.

*

Angela wakes with a flinch. Her breath stops in her chest before her lungs allow themselves to fill with morning air. There is only a black recall in her mind of what could cast the heavy feeling into her chest, but perhaps, it’s best to not remember.

Blinking slowly, she rubs her eyes and sits up. The bedroll is thin, and does little to give her bones comfort from the cool grass. Several feet away across from her, as they give respect, the Shimada Brothers’ bedroll lies. She sweeps back her unbrushed hair.

When she laid down, Hanzo was asleep there. Now, although the brothers share similar, strong figures, she knows it’s not the eldest brother. Her heart elevates slightly at knowing Genji did get some rest after all.

“Your Highness,” says a rumbling voice. She bites back a gasp as she turns, finding Hanzo opening one of the bags hanging from her mare’s saddle. The rest of the horses already stand with their saddles, ready.

“Hanzo,” she greets, then clears her throat from its dry pitch.

The gray, early dawn tells of how quickly he wants to move on. His shoulders hold a former line then his brother. Despite Genji being the one decorated in fearsome scars, Hanzo casts a sternness that emits a standoffish aura.

“Would you like to eat?” he asks, already taking bread and fruit from the saddle bags.

“Yes.”

Rising, she fixes her riding dress. The cloth is already fitting close to her skin, and feels dirty. There isn’t any hope for changing into softer garments at night as it was insisted they be prepared to move at a moment’s notice. A sense of greasiness coats her skin and hair. Inhaling deeply, Angela puts aside unpleasant murmurs to meet Hanzo. He hands her the food before retrieving her bed roll and wool blanket. Silently, as she eats, he rolls and stores the items away.

Her mind drifts to yesterday, of the stranger on horseback looking to fight an upcoming war. He has faith that the King and Queen are still alive. However, a haunting voice in the back of her mind whispers that not all believe they still breathe.

“Hanzo.” She stops him. He was making his way towards his brother, no doubt to wake him up, but he stills at her direct call.

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“May I ask you to speak honestly with me?” her voice almost lowers in uncertainty. A childish part of her wishes to remain in ignorance, a false fantasy where everything is how she hopes it to be. She cannot. She must accept reality for her kingdom’s sake, least they suffer.

“Of course,” he answers. His brow furrows slightly at her expression.

She stalls, just for a moment before meeting his gaze.

“Do you believe the King and Queen are still alive?”

He’s a controlled man. Nothing shifts in his eyes. Perhaps she is too invested, and he doesn’t wish to deal with her emotional downfall, but he takes one second to ponder his answer.

“King Akande is an ambitious man,” he begins. “When he’s conquered other kingdoms in the past, none of the previous rulers were told to still be alive.”

Her heart sinks, like a stone thrown into water. She bites the inside of her cheek as to keep her eyes from shining. She knows this fact as well.

“I do believe the King and Queen, with their guard, could endure a siege from King Akande,” is his spoken relief. It’s not as pity, however. Just his own truth. “They are strong people.”

As if the morning dew seeps into her cheeks, Angela dips her head.

“A man of his stature doesn’t hold himself in humility,” he adds as if an afterthought. “He would boast of his victory over the King and Queen to all of Caduceus if there was one.”

Her stomach twists.

“Thank you, Hanzo,” she whispers.

He bows his head before continuing to Genji. As he shakes his brother awake, Angela looks to the horizon. Farther in the heart of Caduceus, if she rode fast enough, she would come back to her home.

The only comfort she can cling to is that King Akande isn’t displaying her parents’ corpses for their kingdom to weep at.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As they journey into Busan, Princess Angela, Genji and Hanzo witness first hand how polluted the kingdom has become with King Akande’s soldiers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Angela is dealing with a lot, but I enjoyed writing this as this part is setting up a lot for the future. Also, have a few soft moments between Genji and Angela!

Angela and her two, unofficial guards follow a small, dirt path to the large city of Busan. In the late evening, their trail merges with a larger road and mingles the travelers it carries. Soldiers leave the lesser towns and villages in peace, but the trading district is dirtied with King Akande’s men.

Her heart fills with dark fear at how quickly Akande was able to slip his armies into her people’s streets. How fast they broke down the door to her own home is terrifying. Versing Caduceus’s small forces to King Akande’s power and men is akin to betting a chicken against a fox.

A lake lines half of the city, spilling a beautiful green-blue beside the stone and orange roof buildings. Angela has visited this place when she was a teenager with her parents. The King and Queen had come to visit the people and oversee the conditions that were kept. Back then, Busan was overflowing with people, carts, merchants, and noise.

On this dark evening, there are only a quarter of stalls open, and even less people walking the cobblestone streets. Those that have fallen in line with her horse’s trot know to keep themselves quiet and avoid unwanted attention. They are not the only ones hiding, but shame burns Angela at using her own terrified people like camouflage. They shouldn’t be afraid to walk through their own city.

Pairs or trios of gold plated and red cloth soldiers march by. As they slip into the entrance of the city, Genji and Hanzo are forced to reposition themselves around her due to the smaller streets. Genji stays at her side as Hanzo takes the lead. His gelding’s white tail flickers like a flame to follow through the dark.

Several feet behind them, two of Akande’s soldiers stop a lone man and his cow driven cart. Alerted to their demands, Angela turns her head in the slightest to watch the soldiers demand his goods. Food that he should have sold in the main market is now being ripped out of the cart, and spilled onto the ground like dirt. The poor man tries to grab the arm of one, but the other soldier hits him with the hilt of his sword.

A small gasp leaves her throat at the sight, but their horses carry them away from the scene in the street.

“Mercy,” Genji murmurs in caution.

It takes her a moment to remember the name, and a moment more to face forward. Her lips remain parted as her wide eyes fall upon Genji. He saw their cruelty too, but his brow forms a hard line instead of mimicking Angela’s shock. Subtly, he gestures to her hood.

Sorrowful questions linger on her tongue as to why this all happens, but she reaches up and fixes her hood so it drowns her face in deeper shadows. Drawing a deep breath, she places on the invisible mask. One that implies her heart is hard and focused on their sole task, but getting to Reinhardt while her people are being mistreated seems pointless. What can she do there, if she can’t help them here?

There’s little that can be done without the risk of exposing herself and forcing Genji and Hanzo to fight off far too many soldiers. Her fingers tighten around the reins as sour frustration coats the inside of her mouth.

They begin to cross into the center of the city. The open market that should be overflowing with stalls selling clothes like silk and satin, or foods like fruits and warm pastries, almost cease to exist. Those that still remain keep low in their stall. Even fewer dare to buy. Hanzo almost reaches for his bow when a trio of gold plated soldiers intercepts their path. One shouts at their party, ordering them to move quickly before they anger them anymore. Their wrath turns on a woman’s stall. They take what they please, leaving her sobbing.

She sees the same disgust in Genji and Hanzo. Their hooded expressions betray sharp, raging eyes that cut over soldiers, and soften in pity at the citizens. Her only consolation. At the end of the open market, Hanzo pulls their horses to the side of the street.

“What are you doing?” Genji demands in a hush. Both brothers sweep over the area as Hanzo dismounts.

“We need a few more supplies. I’ll be quick, stay with Mercy,” he firmly orders.

Angela had already place her horse against a low stone wall. Beside her, Genji watching his brother head into the stalls. He keeps his word with his swiftness but a frown still plagues Genji. Quietly, they dismount as well. Taking the reins of their steeds, they stand close together.

“There are too many soldiers here,” his voice murmurs in low cords. A quick glance of his sepia irises fall upon her before returning to his watch. “It’s not safe.”

“No it isn’t,” she agrees. “Seeing how these soldiers treat my people makes me sick.”

Her mouth twists as if about to spit. Instead, she wraps the reins around her fingers as to draw them tight and squeeze, releasing some pressure from inside her soul. The act turns her fingers white.

“Mercy.” He faces her again. His eyes lower from her before lifting, as if unworthy to keep her stare. “Once Hanzo returns, we’ll depart from here and find a place along the road to spend the night.”

“Genji.” It’s foolish, but she has to ask. “What can be done now?”

His brow furrows at her question.

“Princess, we’re already doing the only thing we can. Getting you to Reinhardt—”

His eyes widen upon her just as something pulls on her free hand, nearly jerking her away. In the same second a raspy voice whispers ‘Woman, please”, Genji’s arm wraps around her waist. Shifting her away, the person’s grip on her breaks. In an instant, Angela is placed behind Genji. He draws his sword. The person cries out just as Angela finally sees who they are.

“Don’t touch her,” he commands, angry.

A beggar. A poor woman clothed in tatter, soiled clothing. She raises her hand in weak defense as Angela’s heart begins to slow.

“I just need a scrap of food, please,” she cries. Old, and worn by time and troubles, the woman shuffles away a few inches.

Genji still stands taunt. He glances back to Angela as their veins pump wildly. He’s so close, shielding her with his body. She’s half pressed against his backside. Sudden pink blooms across her cheekbones. The warmth of his person reminds of riding on horseback to his home as she clung tightly to him. His arm still falls back to wrap around her waist, ready to move her again should someone else try to take her as his other hand holds his sword out.

It startles her, the sight of the beggar. For most of her life, she has only know healthy faces and satisfied needs. Her parents have done much for this kingdom, but there are still those who need more help that they haven’t reached.

Pressing a palm between Genji’s shoulder blades, Angela holds up the other.

“Oh, no, it’s alright! Wait,” she hurries out along her tongue.

The woman immediately stills. Wide, hungry eyes fall upon her. Angela’s heart flutters as she takes a step away from Genji’s protective stance.

“Mercy,” his voice rises in subtle panic.

His confusion and worry clashes as he lets his arm fall away but keeps up with her pace. Angela moves to the saddle of her horse. Between her and the beggar, Genji stands tall. She draws out fruit and a loaf of bread as if handling crown jewels.

“She needs food, Genji,” Angela murmurs. “It’s alright.”

His jaw lowers, but whatever he was going to say dies. A light, far from any flame or sun, glows like a small candle in his irises, as if in reserved awe, or impressed. Quietly, he keeps with her steps as Angela returns to the woman.

“Will this be enough?” Angela asks.

The beggar, with shaking hands, takes the food and bows her head. The slight brush of grime and sweat stains Angela’s palms, but it is nothing to the simple answer of a need. Hovering at her side but lowering his sword, Genji watches with a strange expression on his scarred face. She can’t quite place it. Maybe thankfulness, or admiration, but those don’t make sense to Angela.

“Thank you, woman. Thank you.”

The woman bites into the bread loaf as she turns and shuffles away.

Angela’s hands stay in the air, amazed. Her parents have done as much as they can for her people, but there are those that lack, and have need. Never before would she have come so close to someone like the beggar if her personal guards and handmaidens were surrounding her. Instead, Angela slowly looks to Genji.

The softest smile touches the corner of his lips. Even though a scar cuts through the pink of his mouth, it’s such a tender vision that stirs the blood in Angela’s heart. She looks away then, bashfully taking a moment to recollect the blood that has run into her cheeks.

“That was kind of you,” he says. Maybe admiration is the right word.

“She needed help,” Angela says softly. “There shouldn’t be those without in my parents’ kingdom. That will change when I reunite with them.”

Genji lifts his chin, catching her attention. The slightest fall to his brow sends a rush of ice water into her veins. Before she can ask what is the cause, Hanzo’s voice rises in the market. Jerking their heads to the source, the open, half empty streets unveil the older brother. A dropped sack of vegetables at Hanzo’s feet betrays his braced stance. His cloak keeps his bow and arrow hidden from the two gold plated and red clothed guards, but he’s angry.

Genji steps forward as Angela’s heartbeat rises. The soldiers are obviously harassing Hanzo, but there are many more within the city. If a fight happens, they would be quickly outnumbered.

A fight must be avoided.

Genji suddenly stops, dating his gaze between Angela and his brother.

“Go,” she breathes, stepping back to her horse.

“Mercy, no—”

“Help him, and I’ll bring the horses. Go!” she orders.

The split second decision happens in Genji’s eyes. If he’s too late to ease the conflict with Hanzo and the soldiers, it could only be a matter of time before Angela is found out. He dashes forward, hiding his sword underneath his cloak.

As quickly as possible, Angela mounts her horse, grabs the reins of the geldings and kicks them forward. It’s a struggle to keep both of the other horses beside her mare and hold her own reins, but she pushes the horses onward.

The soldiers lose an air of superiority as Genji comes to Hanzo’s side. The brothers stand strong, and Genji’s scars appear as a terrifying warning. Keeping calm, their weapons remain hidden as the gold plated soldiers both glower. Their unbalanced harassment on Hanzo have just turned against them. Their hands rest upon the hilt of the swords hanging from their waists.

On her horse, Angela is safe. She tugs the two others close to where the street widens, and the four men all stand taunt. She stops her mare behind Genji and Hanzo just to hear a sneer from one soldier.

“We didn’t have a hard time killing this city’s guards. There’s no one to come to your rescue.”

Under the shadow of her hood, Angela’s wide eyes hide. Hanzo, seeing the horses and her, immediately step back. Whatever fury he held at their mockery disappears for the sake of preserving their mission.

“We’re leaving now,” Hanzo announces as he and Genji step away. His glare could cut through wood alone. A soldier laughs.

“You are pitiful men. You could be something more, though. Joining our ranks now would save you the trouble of being forced into it after we’ve properly claimed this kingdom.”

“Enough,” Genji says.

He takes his horse’s reins from Angela. In that moment their eyes meet, and he jerks his chin, indicating her to keep her face turned away from them. She does so, appearing as if she were afraid of the soldiers.

“It’s true,” the other soldier speaks. “Our king is marching for the castle now. Once he takes it, Caduceus is his, and so will all of you belong to his reign. His army is already accepting recruits.”

In her chest, Angela’s heart becomes stone. It sinks and pulls through every vein and artery until it plunges into her stomach.

King Akande didn’t even personally attack her home, but he comes now. If he reaches the castle, her parents will be killed at his hand.

“A bloody king will never be my master,” Hanzo almost snarls.

As he mounts, silent anger clenches Genji’s jaw shut. His one hand stays hidden in his cloak, still clinging to his sword. A more impressive look of disgust falls from Hanzo’s gaze and onto the soldiers. Angela doesn’t look at them. They laugh.

“A bloody king is one who knows how to conquer. He will be the only king in these lands soon, if he isn’t already.”

A hard breath leaves her lungs. Hanzo pulls his horse away first. Numb, Angela follows and Genji trots behind her. The soldiers find no threat in two proud men. They honestly believe no one can stand up against King Akande.

They ride through Busan, lost of some coins and the fresh thought of vegetables. In her mind, rocks and boulders slam together, cracking and quaking. Her hands cling to the reins as they flee the city. No one follows them as she keeps her hood on and her face down. Pushing their horses, Hanzo leads them down a small path away from the main road. A thicket of woods accompanies them again.

When the last of the sunlight falls behind the horizon, Angela frees her burning tongue.

“We have to go the castle.”

She stops her mare, almost hitting into Genji’s gelding as Hanzo’s trots forward a few paces before noticing the lack of hoof beats.

“Princess, what do you mean?” Genji asks.

Gently urging his horse forward, he comes to her side. Only a few inches of space rest between their saddles as the horses smell each other for a moment.

“Your Highness, we don’t have time for this,” Hanzo insists. His grip tightens on the rein. Restlessly, his gelding steps back towards her. “If what those soldiers said is true, then we must hurry against King Akande’s advance.”

“That’s exactly what I’m speaking about.”

The brothers exchange a confused glance.

“If King Akande makes it to the castle with additional forces, my parents will be killed,” she says. Frustration and lack of action leaves her heart drained. How do they not see this? Their King and Queen needs their help. “We have to go to them, now.”

“Princess, there were too many attacking the castle when we fled,” Genji says, concerned. “My brother and I can’t fight such a large number. We also can’t leave you unprotected or near so many of Akande’s men.”

Looking to him, a stark slash of betrayal cuts into her chest. She thought he would understand. Her brow hardens. The corner of his lips tug downward, struggling to know what to say.

“Your Highness, there are too many unknowns,” Hanzo firmly adds. “You could be taken or killed while we go back there. One of us could be killed, leaving you with less protection. The King and Queen could already be lost—”

“They are not already lost,” her voice rises sharply.

A silence echoes. Startled, Angela shuts her mouth and looks away. Slowly, Hanzo tenses his jaw while giving a hard expression to Genji. Her lungs seem ready to burst as her throat closes.

Her mother and father are not lost. She knows, she knows there is that chance that they are already dead, but the thought refuses to connect to reality. Her duty is to her people, and that she would take the crown one day after her parents’ passing, but that wouldn’t be for many long years. She can’t accept that now. That weight, that lost.

“You have a duty to the King and Queen,” she tries once more but Genji doesn’t move so much as an inch from her side.

“Our duty is to you,” he speaks. His voice is steady like calm waters. It’s not harsh, but firm in his gentle persuasion. Angela already knows what will be said. She doesn’t look at him just yet, angry. “Princess, the path we take is still the best plan. I can’t risk you. I know this is difficult for you, but you have to trust in us and trust that your parents are still fighting.”

I can’t risk you.

Angela turns her face to the scullion.

Is that what he said? Did she hear right?

Her entire being stills. Sepia irises refuse to let her go, and leave her alone in this suffering. In her throat, cries of despair take her air, but she swallows them away. In his solid being, and unwavering, burning will, she finds an island of peace among the raging storm. Despite her irrationality, she is calm by her guard.

He’s right. Her fear is eating away at the edges of her person. She has to have faith. There is nothing else they can do but carry on. She will do that, for both her mother and father, and the kingdom.

The mask has slipped off, but she fastens it back on slowly. With each breath, it covers her cheekbones and eyes. She exhales deeply. Her eyelids finally close, and she leans forward to pat the mare’s red mane once.

“My apologies,” she murmurs. “I’ve wasted too much time.”

She kicks her horse forward. Her eyes fall downwards, but she doesn’t miss Hanzo’s slightly troubled glance. Her emotional spectacle floods her chest in shame. Losing herself in panic and fear is hardly what her country needs at this moment. If it wasn’t for Genji, she would have raced away days ago.

The rest of their ride is left in near darkness. They don’t travel far before they decide to make camp near an open meadow and a small stream. The babbling water eases a bit of her troubled soul as they once again hide in the night without a fire. Eating and setting out the bedrolls is done in near silence.

Genji takes the first watch again. Situated between the tree Genji leans against, and Hanzo’s lying form a few feet away, she’s surrounded in their security. She doesn’t lay down right away. An uncomfortable knot in her chest begs for her to be left alone so she doesn’t catch one of their worried or troubled gazes.

She chastises herself for being so weak. This is not how a princess should be. She needs to be better, for everyone, and for herself. If she is to lead, whenever that may be, as much as it darkens her heart, she must be stronger than this. She is, but she must act accordingly.

Like lifting a noose, Angela takes out the pendant. Its shiny edge almost glints in the faint moonlight. Genji’s eyes lands on it, but he doesn’t comment.

His words play in the back of her mind like a song. He said ‘I can’t risk you’. Was it a slip of his tongue? Did he meant to say ‘we’?

Quietly, she ponders why it still rings in her head. One off handed sentence. Its meaning is simple, but his voice carried it differently.

It’s obvious she isn’t asleep yet, but he leaves her be. Is he considering how awful of a ruler she’d be? Or the chances of the King and Queen still being alive? A small shudder rolls through her body.

The night before the siege, Angela was sitting with her mother in her and her father’s personal chambers. They were chattering of the day and drinking tea. A normal occurrence. A calm twilight had followed the evening. Her father walked into the room, smiling, asking how they both were. His kiss touched her hair, and then found his Queen’s lips. Angela always felt comforted by their open affection, knowing that other kingdoms had arranged marriages that were less romantic and genuine.

How did that all disappear overnight?

Her fist clenches the golden insignia of the Ziegler bloodline.

“Princess?”

The soft voice doesn’t raise alarm, or make her jump. Instead, she slowly finds Genji’s person in the moonlight. He stands straight now. One step is towards her, as if deciding whether or not to go to her. She realizes that a tear has cut a trail into her cheek. She quickly rubs it away.

“Yes, Genji?” she whispers.

“Are you alright?” he asks as soft as blades of grass.

A frail smile touches her lips, in reassurance, and in the courage she gathers. No more tears will escape her until they make it to Reinhardt’s stronghold. The promises she makes on this night seal silently away in her heart.

“Yes. I’m going to sleep now.”

He only nods, but doesn’t move until she lays her cheek on the bedroll. Even then, she faces in his direction. Slowly, he leans back against the tree, turning his face to the darkness. His former promise of nothing frightening emerging from the trees comes to mind, and brings a small note of humor to her otherwise cold chest.

She falls asleep with his image imprinted against the back of her eyelids.

She dreams that she has wings across her back with the very same, golden feathers from her family’s crest. They beat wildly, anxiously, taking her through the dark over a black, never ending lake.

A sudden hand lunges out of the water to snatch her wrist, dripping black. It tugs her downwards, but instead of falling prey, Angela beats her wings harder. She lifts the hand that connects to an arm and reveals the dark water dripping off of the beggar’s face. Angela must save her. She keeps lifting her, straining her golden wings but another hand shoots out of the lake to grab her ankle. Desperate to be lifted up. Her wings strain against the weight but refuse to leave them.

Beating her wings as furiously as a hummingbird’s, Angela is slowly overwhelmed as new and different hands rise. They grasp at her dress, her hair, every inch of her skin. Fingers clamp over her mouth and eyes. She can’t save them all. Her wings, despite their strength and beauty, fail. The multitude drags her closer to the water.

A panic fills her like no other. If she falls, it will all be over. In a single motion, she’s thrust into the black lake. The water isn’t simply water. It’s dark as the new moon, and its thickness sticks to her wings. Hiding and weighing down the gold color, they are made useless. She can’t escape now even if she somehow managed to be free of the many hands.

A muddled and distant voice calls out from above the surface. Angela, blind and drowning, tries to answer. Too many fingers cover her mouth. The black oil rushes over her tongue, gagging her.

She wakes with a start, her heart pounding and her mind only knowing the black oil.

*

In the morning, before sunlight spills onto the earth, a hooded figure rides into Hanamura on a smoky gray horse. They pass by soldiers without fear, and question anyone who dares to wander in the streets.

The hooded figure comes to a horse farm a little ways from town. A heavyset man is wary of the stranger, but answers their questions.

“This ring? I received it as payment. I don’t care if it was stolen, it’s rightfully mine.”

A platinum ring, small, meant to fit on the finger of a woman. The man is ignorant of it belonging to the Princess of Caduceus.

“Oh, a fellow gave it to me. One of the Shimada sons, the older one. He was in a hurry and I didn’t bother asking where he got it from.”

The hooded figure learns of two horses that were bought, and of the two brothers. There’s nothing else he can give them.

“You can’t threaten me,” the man bellows.

He tries to hold his ground as their conversation comes to an end, but the hooded figure walks away with the platinum ring in their gloved hand. Behind their back, King Akande’s soldiers seize the man. The rest will go to the Shimada home and find addition details by any means necessary.

Mounting their horse, the hooded figure leaves Hanamura to follow a promising trail.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela and her guards take the morning to bath before continuing on their journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was just an indulgent piece to create some romantic/awkward tension between Genji and Mercy, but to also add a little cute moment for them. I’ve been playing up the honor code that would have been upheld during these times, and oh man, it’s fun.

It may be a trick of her own persuasion, but Angela swears that Genji seems more attentive to her over the next few days. Her one tear betrayed her mask, and Genji witnessed it. Does he worry? Is he troubled like his brother over her emotional displays when she should be handling the situation better? Maybe so, but not in the same way Hanzo was in their conversation regarding the King and Queen.

Hanzo has every right to be wary of a useless princess in a distress. However, her promise still stirs in her heart. She won’t forget their journey. They make haste to Reinhardt’s stronghold. Surely, if anyone would remain standing against King Akande’s assault, it would be the lion knight.

As Reinhardt is a lord, he has men at his command. Soldiers he has gladly offered before in battle for her father. She visited his home as a young girl. Reinhardt appeared like the mountain, breathtakingly large and strong. Loud and bold like one, too, but he was also kind. His loyalty never wavered in any adversity.

He will be the key to saving her parents, and taking back the kingdom.

A week into their journey, they’ve managed to mostly stay on isolated dirt paths and pass by only the occasional wanderer. The trees and dark woods serve as their resting places at night. Early in the morning, Hanzo urges them to rise. Late into the evening is when they finally give their horses rest and spread out the bedrolls.

Angela never dares speak so but it’s grueling. The sun beats down on her heavy cloak but the hood stays covering her hair in precaution. Her thighs ache from days on end of riding. Genji and Hanzo will occasionally grunt and do their best to stretch their bodies after a day comes to an end, but no one complains. Genji only asks if she’s still with him, and her answer is yes every time.

Her promise of facing hardship with forbearance binds her tongue from any murmuring. In comfort, she tells herself she could be far less fortunate, and thinks of her parents. Not for long, however, as her mind tends to wander down dark paths.

Genji and Hanzo are vigilant, she comes to discover. She can’t help but compare Genji to the young boy he was when they first met, restless and eager to escape the kitchen. Now, he sits tall in his saddle, observing the path ahead with sweeping eyes. She’s careful to not be caught staring at his face for too long, as the worry of him thinking she’s ogling his scars lays stones in her heart.

Quietly, she notes Genji’s strong nose, and thick eyebrows, similarities he shares with Hanzo. The pink, jagged scars aren’t frightening. The marks have simply become a part of his person, as much as his sepia irises are.

She doesn’t have the audacity to ask, but a silent hope lies within her that he doesn’t see his scars as terrifying as others would. Back at the castle, when everything was orderly in her life, Angela knew the whispers that echoed of the scarred scullion.

It was a few years after they first met. Angela knew better than to converse with the scullion, least she cause him any more trouble like last time. They never spoke. Angela still isn’t sure if it was because he was angry with her for causing his father’s chastising. She didn’t want to upset him again if so, but they met gazes, often. She could never pick apart what was in his eyes. If he was indifferent towards her, or simply found displeasure in her title, she was none the wiser. For whatever the reason, they could never share words. Small moments, however, happened when they made eye contact cross long hallways or in between the slight gape in the kitchen doors.

That day, she was speaking with one of her tutors. They were escorting her back to her room when the kitchen doors open. One of the servants hurriedly bowed to Angela, keeping the doors wide open.

She barely gave a passing glance to the servant as her eyes immediately darted into the kitchen, to the very back. The now older boy had been gone for several weeks. Angela heard of a tragic accident that had befallen the Shimada home. What exactly, she didn’t know, only that both sons of Sojiro were gone for some time.

After weeks of being away, Genji straighten. In his hands, he lifted a bucket of leftover slop meant for the royal pigs. His brow was furrowed with concentration, but the several calls of ‘Your Highness’ caused him to raise his head.

Angela couldn’t help her wide eye gaze. His once smooth, pale skin is now tattered in deep pink and still healing scars across his entire face. From his chin, to his forehead. It was like the young scullion had become a stitched doll.

On reflex, she brought a hand to her mouth to smother a gasp. Then, reached out with the other, as if to comfort him from where she stood. She started to say his name. They were an entire world apart in that moment as his eyes shimmered with insecurity and embarrassment, like teardrops. He ducked his head, and ran out the back door.

She cursed herself for days afterwards, refusing to forgive herself for staring so rudely and not offering one word of comfort. Still, she couldn’t help but ask what had happen to Sojiro’s youngest son.

An accident. A few servants had scoffed at Sojiro still teaching his boys how to fight with a sword, saying an ‘accident’ like this was bound to happen to a scullion family.

Angela had approached her mother, and asked her to insure the young scullion received remedies for his scars. The Queen agreed. The physician had mixed and offered a herb paste that would keep his still healing wounds clean, and soften the scars as much as possible.

Word was given to her that the scullion used it often, and whenever possible.

She doesn’t know if Genji knew that she requested the treatment for him.

She doesn’t dare ask now. Perhaps he would be embarrassed or feel as if it were out of pity. No, it’s best to leave those things in the past. She can’t imagine that her recounts of some distant attempt of care would matter to Genji. He couldn’t see her as anything but a royal person, indifferent and distant from himself save for his duty to the kingdom. That is all she must be to him. His job. She wouldn’t want to make him uncomfortable by pressing things to mind of their distant youth, especially if the memories are of things best left forgotten.

Her mind is too heavy now. Between her uncertain regard to Genji, his recent actions and their days as children, she doesn’t know what she is trying to piece together. It’s as if she’s trying to scoop up water with only her hands. She can hold a small amount for some time, but it eventually slips out from in between her fingers.

The muddled order of her thoughts only continues to grow.

They stop their horses beside a flowing river. The stream they were following drew from a much larger source, and the louder babble immediately sets Angela’s soul at ease. They decide to rest beside it that night. Its rumbling lullaby lays the party of three to a calming night.

In the morning, Angela wakes up late. Both brothers are already set for the day, but they stall in the early light. Where they had spent the night is encircled in thick trees before the river opens up the area. It’s secure in a slight way, or feels so.

Angela eats, and senses an uncertainty in the air. A few quick glances between Genji and Hanzo immediately makes a knot in Angela’s stomach.

“What is it? Is there something you must tell me?” she asks steadily.

She sets her sights on Genji. Her wide eyes must give away what she fears they have to tell her for he steps towards her.

“Princess, we want to use this morning to bath in the river,” he says quickly.

Angela’s lungs deflate slowly then fill with relief. Confusion now tumbles across her brow as she takes in Hanzo’s and Genji’s stance. They both stand tall but seem awkward, unsure.

They most certainly want to bath too. Why would they feel so reserved in suggesting the idea?

“That sounds wonderful,” Angela genuinely expresses.

Their travel has only allowed her to use strips of damp cloth to watch her skin in intervals. Her dress, which she has slept in, sticks to her skin with dust and sweat. Her hair, oh her hair must be dunked in water. For her entire life, she hasn’t gone more than two days without a warm bath filled with scented oils. This suggestion alone leaves her skin crying out for relief.

“Princess,” Genji starts again. The slightest shuffle to his feet draws her curious gaze. “We, as your guards, are to protect you as well as honor you.”

“Oh.” The single word falls from her lips.

They must guard her at all times. She lacks her handmaidens to give her aid or scented oils to soak into her skin. Two men who are also in need of a bath and a cold river never crossed her mind. Her cheeks heat at her own absent mindedness and their uncomfortable stances.

Angela understands their reserved nature this morning. Refusing more blood that threatens to spill across her cheeks, she clears her throat.

“Genji, Hanzo,” she speaks coolly. She can handle this, of all things. “You both have my trust but I don’t need to be… guarded while bathing. It will only be a quick moment, and these woods are empty so far.”

“Your Highness, we reassure you that we are honorable men,” Hanzo speaks, stepping forward. His shoulders are pushed back, firm, but his gaze adverts slightly. A strict seriousness clings to him like the cloth of his shirt. That, she can trust, but it’s still difficult to imagine being near him or Genji while cleaning herself.

“We must stand guard, in case anything should happen, Your Highness,” Hanzo insists.

There is no simple answer to this, at least one that Angela is used to. Quietly, she exhales.

“I know you are honorable men,” she affirms before giving her proposal, “If you both insist on this, then I only need one person to stay near me. The other can clean themselves so we don’t have to stay here for too long.”

Hanzo and Genji look to each other, before agreeing.

“Who is your choice, Your Highness?” Hanzo asks.

At this moment, she would rather melt away. The question poised feels more personal, somehow. Facing the two men with the current situation looming overhead nearly makes her want to refuse the entire ordeal, but she won’t falter like a child. Her skin is much too dirty to deny otherwise.

A similar aura of awkwardness towards a woman shimmers in Genji’s and Hanzo’s eyes. Her comfort is that not one of them are comfortable in this either. The tension almost releases a mad giggle from her lips at the brothers being willing to face an entire army but not the simple act of guarding a bathing woman.

“Genji,” she says, “will you accompany me?”

He dips his chin in a steely nod. A controlled breath leaves his mouth as he steps towards her.

“Yes, Princess.”

It’s decided. Secure in her decision, she and Genji walk towards the river as Hanzo quickly takes his leave far downstream. He walks until he’s out of sight. The thick trees provide cover that doesn’t entirely ease Angela’s fluttering nerves, but she supposes it’s better than nothing.

The moment Hanzo disappears, Angela looks to Genji. His brow hardens in reverence, or at least, a reminder of his duty.

“I hope I don’t offend your brother by choosing you,” Angela breaks the physical silence.

He chuckles lightly. Immediately, like sun melting frost on meadow grass, half of Angela’s worries disappear.

“Princess, I believe you spared Hanzo from a testing trial as he’s more traditional and formal.” He gives her a mirthful look as their steps trample through grass. “I wouldn’t worry about him.”

Free of her hood, Angela nervously brushes back a strand of hair from her eyes.

“Is this a testing trial for you?” she asks softly.

“No, Princess,” his answer is immediate and firm. He looks forward, to the growing babble of the river. “You have my word that I will do nothing to betray your trust.”

His conviction slips into her rib cage and nestles comfortable around her heart. Although it quickens at the task at hand, Angela loses fear.

She nods, clasping her hands in front of her. Her faith as been torn and scattered this last week of her life, but she still manages to place it in other’s hands.

“Thank you, Genji,” she breathes.

He stops a good twenty paces from the river’s edge. The gentle flow echoes to fill the dense quiet. Angela takes a step before realizing she is without company.

“I’ll stand watch here,” Genji says, then clears his throat.

Red touches Angela’s face as she nods, looking away.

“Yes, I’ll… hurry along then.”

In her awkward bones, Angela all but flees as Genji faces his back towards her. She dares not turn her head for fear that even the silhouette of his backside will destroy her little determination.

At the water’s edge, she can almost forget the tension between her and her guard. It’s a cold, clear color, but promises refuge from her dirty dress and hair.

As she readies to strip free of her dress, Angela does look back, once. Genji stands beside a tree like a statue. His dark hair gleams in the shadowy sunlight cast down by the leaves. He gaze is only away, far from where she stands, ready to expose herself.

The gentle grasp of his hand taking her own when he first came for her in the castle touches her heart. He keeps her trust.

She undresses. Angela steps into the water, submerged in seconds with dress in hand. She bites her cheek as she breaks through the surface to stop a shocked gasp. The freezing water seeps into her skin and hair, far from the bathwater in her personal chambers.

She reminds herself there are far worse things.

Dragging her riding dress through the current, she scrubs dirt and other stains from the fabric. Her fingers begin to ache as the process takes a frustratingly long time. She’s only satisfied with the attempt when there is not a single mark on the green cloth. Tossing it onto a large rock beside the river, it lays in the sun to dry.

Next, Angela combs through her hair with her fingers. The water softens the texture and lifts oil and sweat from her scalp. Hopefully, it also lifts the smell of horse from her. She doesn’t think too heavily on the cold water. Her muscles tense against the current to keep from floating downstream. Shivers rupture through her torso, trying her endurance of the rushing cold.

She can handle this. If not, what can she?

She knows she has no skill in holding a sword. The thought alone begins to pester her as she finally rises out of the river, avoiding the muddy banks and grass blades that stick to her wet skin.

For one heart pounding second, she is vulnerable and in full view. Swiftly, Angela snatches her dress and pulls it on, despite the damp cloth fighting against her. The fabric holds a chill, but she walks on air. As if she become a happy sunbeam for the lack of dirt covering her skin.

Genji remains where she last saw him. Her anxious hands fixes the neck of her dress and smooths her heavy skirt. He stands still, facing away from the river. A gentle pink longs to flood her face but Angela fights against it. She knows he stayed just so during the entire time.

Quietly, her bare feet slip through the grass. She clutches her boots in hand. Standing only a few feet away, Angela calls out his name.

He freezes at her voice.

“Princess?” he speaks, but doesn’t turn around yet.

“Oh, Genji, it’s alright. I’m dressed,” she reassures swiftly. Then curses herself for imaging him to imagine her otherwise.

He finally eases a glance back. His hesitant eyes alone send another rush of blood through her. Relieved to find her in modesty, he faces her only to look to her hair. It drips over her shoulder, glistening in the patchy sunlight like strands of gold. Just as swiftly, Genji clears his throat and Angela hums an awkward note.

“Are you ready to go to the horses, then?” his voice lowers.

“Yes.”

They walk in silence. Maybe she is being self conscious, but she’s sure Genji looks to her hair several times. Her hands move from being clasped in front of her to brushing through her hair, then stilling. Why is she behaving like a nervous fool all of a sudden?

The question brings the image of Genji in the river, and she immediately bites the inside of her cheek. They can’t return to their horses soon enough.

Entering the meadow, Angela starts with realization.

“Oh, Genji, you need to bath too.”

“I certainly plan on doing so,” he says, as if to reassure. “As soon as Hanzo returns.”

Beside the horses, and with her own skin scrubbed clean, the situation feels safe enough. As safe as it can be, in any case.

“I will be alright for a moment here. I’m sure Hanzo is returning now as we speak. You can go,” Angela insists.

“Princess.” Genji holds her gaze. “I can’t leave you unprotected.”

It’s not surprising, but she wanted to give him the opportunity. Resigned, Angela dips her head. Genji gestures to a log nestled in the tall grass. Waiting on her, Angela sits first before Genji lowers himself beside her, keeping a comfortable distance.

“You are very devoted,” she says softly. Taking her hair, she still rakes her fingers through the ends. “That is admirable.”

“Thank you, Princess,” he speaks in humble cords, or something else she can’t quite place. Sorrow, perhaps, but that doesn’t match his softer expression.

Could she not be the only one staying strong? Does he worry over his father, or fear the upcoming battles they may have to face for her sack? She is asking so much of them by having him and his brother remain at her side.

Her jaw lowers before she finds words to fill the air between them.

“Did you take your work as a scullion just as intensely?”

He chuckles, lifting her heat with the noise alone.

“If you asked the cook, he wouldn’t so say. I always managed to do what was needed to be done, but I never acted like it was anything but meager work,” he says, lightly.

Angela quietly laughs. He turns to her, as if in a trance as Angela brings her hand to cover her mouth. At his attention, she clears her throat and straightens.

“That poor cook,” she gives in mock sympathy. The man is a harsh, older gentleman with a strict enforcement. Although she has mostly dealt with a more somber side of Genji during their journey, there were stories that echoed off the castle walls of the young scullion causing trouble that were more humorous to Angela. “I can’t imagine what you put him through.”

“Nothing I didn’t put Hanzo through,” he now grins openly. Like an infectious disease, Angela smiles back.

The sun seems to fall onto their hair and laps in that moment. It’s just a passing second, but she can believe they are two souls simply enjoying a lovely, late morning stroll, far from any titles or war. His scarred smile alone makes her want it to be true.

Angela looks away, letting her hands fall from her hair.

“Princess?”

She slowly returns her gaze, stilling at the softer edge now lacing Genji’s voice as he hesitates.

“Yes, Genji?”

His tongue stalls in his mouth. He doesn’t release her stare, but rolling thoughts burn through his skin. What waits against his teeth seems to sting.

“Do you remember when we were—”

“Your Highness,” Hanzo greets.

Angela leans away, not realizing how close she had angled herself to Genji. He too rises to his feet, as if attempting to not be caught doing something he shouldn’t. She has no idea why, but the urge to blush nearly overwhelms her cheeks.

“Hurry, Genji,” he urges without prompt.

They’ve already spend a lot of time here. Hanzo’s clothes are damp, and his hair half dry. It lies over his shoulders, much longer than Genji’s short cut. He’s handsome in a sharper, more regal way than she associates with his younger brother. In him, she could see a noble family.

Genji steps quickly through the grass, leaving the princess and Hanzo to wait. They share little words besides of where they plan to go next. A small town is just a day’s ride away. If they can hurry, they’ll get to it before nightfall. Hanzo is cautiously hopeful that the town will be untouched by Akande’s soldiers.

After enough time has passed, Hanzo steps to his horse. Angela doesn’t realize how close Genji is, for if she had, she wouldn’t have looked to the river.

She wouldn’t have seen Genji standing in damp trousers, shirtless, and with wet, glistening hair. She would have been ignorant of his strong, muscular defined body, and the bulges of strength working through his arms. He doesn’t see her, focused on handling his damp shirt.

She wouldn’t have to hide her face to keep any sort of decency for herself, and respect for Genji. Whipping her cheek to the opposite direction, Angela has to recover her breath. She has very little time to composure herself before Genji comes to where they wait in their saddles, now fully dressed albeit damped.

Genji mounts his horse. Angela doesn’t speak when he greets her, only nods. As if her mouth will betray her as well. When they set off into the late morning, her stare is only ahead, mentally pleading to move past the vision of him glistening with river water. That wasn’t for her to see. She give praises to the heavens for allowing herself to not be catch by Genji’s eyes in the weak act.

Quietly, however, she is fond of his strength. She has never known the loving of a man, but it was an experience to see Genji in such a rare state of being.

*

The sky has long since faded into darkness and glimpses of stars. The hooded figure walks through Busan, questioning soldiers of any resistance they have encountered.

Two soldiers tell of two men, one bearing scars all across his face. They almost resisted but fled like cowards. There was a woman with them, handling their horses. They didn’t see her face as it was covered with a hood.

The hooded figure walks into the basement of a small keep. Placed in the center of Busan, it was where the guards of the city would gather, and withhold anyone who disturbed the peace. Since taking over Busan and slaughtering anyone who stood in their way, Akande’s men use it liberally.

In the dark belly of the stone building, one cell is occupied. An older man who did not bend to orders. He sleeps now on the floor, but one kick to the bars rattles the metal as frightening as a church bell at midnight.

“I won’t tell you anything. I serve only the King and Queen of Caduceus.”

He’s loyal, but there is a fault. It’s only a matter of finding what one is desperate for. Whether it be their reputation, their well being, or their secrets. Everyone can be exploited. They must only find the right method.

“You won’t give me freedom,” he says, but even his resolve looks to the cold rock walls, and the small empty space he’s thrown into.

A woman with hair like gold, traveling with two men who are brothers. One has scars all across his face

“Who are they? Why do you want to know of such specifics?” the man asks.

He’s terrible at hiding what he knows. His brow furrows at the description. The hooded figure slams their offer of freedom against the rusted bars. Hesitation only stalls what will soon be in their gloved grasp.

“Give me your word that I will be free of this place if I tell you what you wish.”

They give it, like a shard of glass passed in the dark.

“It was less than a week ago. The woman is the scarred man’s wife. She tried to hide her hair with her hood when I first came upon them. They appeared to be heading to Busan, but that was some time ago. What do you want with them?”

The hooded figure turns away, and leaves the pitch black dungeon. In their palms, as shouts of betrayal are hurled at their dark cloak, they handle a platinum ring. The fool rattles the bars like a caged bird squawking.

They return to the upper levels, where starlight is mercifully. One soldier brings word from a messenger. It comes from Hanamura.

Several soldiers raided the Shimada stronghold. They found nothing but a once high ranking family now succumbing to dust and dirt. Sojiro Shimada spoke of nothing, despite their threats and use of force. The hooded figure doesn’t believe a man like him can be so ignorant. Strong and stubborn, however, yes. In the shadows around the outside of his home, many eyes wait to witness a mistake. Either of a letter sent to someone powerful, or a hint of evidence that a royal head was kept underneath his roof.

The one they seek is only days away. The company of three’s path is still undetermined, but it is irrelevant. Only two men guard her, as if they don’t realize who they protect. Their mission will be fulfilled once they find and dispose of the little protection she has accumulated. Then, it’s a simple matter of exposing the delicate throat of the princess.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heavy clouds gather as Princess Angela and her two guards take refuge in an inn for the night, but the quiet won’t last forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a love/hate relationship with writing action scenes, but bless revising for making piles of hot garbage into treasure. A lot more focused will be put onto the Shimada bros, in this, and the upcoming parts. Their history and complicated relationship are just being revealed.

A day’s ride take Genji, his brother, and the princess into a late night before the town they seek opens up before them. Dark clouds have gathered over the late morning and well into the evening. Few buildings are lit with candles or fires, but a small tavern underneath an inn still has people going in and out of its doors. There are no soldiers in sight, allowing Genji and Hanzo to breathe a little easier. It’s a small enough community that it only holds homes and a few merchant shops, but little else. This is safer for the princess.

At his side, Princess Angela whispers quietly to him when Hanzo steps into the building to see if they’ll take their money at such a late hour.

“I’ve never been inside a tavern before.”

Genji lifts his brow. In the darkness, her hood nearly makes her appear like a shadow. On their tired horses, the prospect of sleeping under a roof excites both the scullion and the princess. He’s been in a few himself, but he understands her slight excitement of the unknown.

“Hopefully they’ll let us in at this indecent hour, and you can see,” Genji says. “Have you wanted to go into one before, Princess?”

“A little, yes,” she confesses with soft laughter. Her hands rest lightly in her saddle. “I’ve had drink before but I’ve wanted to see what it’s like inside.

Genji hesitates. She’s seen in the inside of palaces and castles, and yet a tavern entices her interest. He only worries that disappointment will greet her the moment she enters the establishment. It’s just filled with ordinary men, maybe a few barmaids, drinking and laughing much too loudly.

“I don’t mean to speak too highly of something that really isn’t,” Genji starts as delicately as possible, “but it’s only a place to drink.”

He can see even in the heavy darkness pressed down by the gray clouds that the wood making up the structure isn’t that fine of quality, and the what little glass windows decorate the walls are dusty. Less glamorous than her own home, made of polished marble.

Princess Angela nods, no less deterred as she looks to the front door. In the entryway, Hanzo beckons for them. The inn will let them rest for the night.

With that invitation, Genji swiftly ties their horses away before escorting the princess inside. The dark night presses him closer to her side. The wooden door shuts behind them as the tavern take their weary bodies. Yellow light, as if aged just by burning, flickers dully over the open floor. He was correct in assuming there would only be drunks and revealing woman about, but Princess Angela drinks in the scene while maintaining her hood. He and his brother take the princess up the creaking wooden stairs and into a hallway lined with doors.

To get this roof overhead, Hanzo took from their pouch of coins their father was able to provide. It’s costly, but made worthwhile for the security of walls alone. Hanzo also fears rain would fall on them tonight, but a drop has yet to splatter.

Hanzo opens a door set in the middle of the hallway. Looking inside, one of his hands stay upon a knife hidden inside his cloak as he enters. Genji, just a step behind Princess Angela, still hovers close to her side. Her expression is more focused on the relief of a bed rather than any enemies, which is the purpose of his standings.

“Your Highness, one of us will stand guard in your room. The room right beside this one is where one of us will rest,” Hanzo explains as he scouts the interior.

“Yes, of course. Thank you,” Princess Angela’s voice lowers in tiredness.

There is little inside. A bed, a cruel and worn hearth, a window to gaze at the backside of the town, and a small dresser. Lackluster and bare, but the princess is content enough to lower her hood. The distraction of her tied hair spilling down her shoulders keeps Genji from seeing the look on his brother’s face.

“Your Highness,” Hanzo begins, “Genji and I must discuss on how to properly watch over you tonight. It will be only a few moments, and we will be close.”

“I’ll be alright,” she flashes a smile that fades away. In fact, a soft look of relief passes over her eyes at the implication of having a moment alone. Genji furrows his brow slightly, imaging how much she needs this before Hanzo takes him out the door.

“Hanzo,” Genji can barely begin before he’s cut off.

“Don’t be lax, Genji. We don’t see any of Akande’s men here, but that does not mean that the Princess isn’t out of harm’s way,” he starts briskly.

His ponytail seems to bristle as Hanzo steps down the hall. Hardening his brow, Genji follows after him, wondering what spurred this new intensity. They grow quiet the moment they near the tavern before once again slipping outside. A frown tugs at Genji’s mouth as they enter the cooler, heavier atmosphere as rain still waits to fall. He looks up to the second story of the wooden building. The princess is alone now, but Hanzo walks with purpose around the building. A silent question of his older brother’s actions buzz within Genji. It is silently answered by the time they draw underneath a lit window from the upper level.

Hanzo sweeps his gaze across the more grassy backside of the land. The main road is rough and dirty as trees surround the town. He stands taunt, as if pulling on the string of his bow but his hands only scrunch tightly at his sides.

“Hanzo,” Genji finally says, placing a hand on his brothers arm. “What is this about?”

Hanzo looks at him, stern. He is only four years older than him, but years and intensity being to set wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. His gaze always reminds Genji of their father, for it is just as dark and marbled.

This opportunity lays heavily upon him. Now just for the sake of their family and their bloodline, but for the fact that bringing the princess to the castle safely will mark them as knights. Hanzo hated working as a servant. The weeks after the accident that occurred between them as boys, Hanzo refused to step back inside the castle. He left, which surprised Genji more than anything. He is like their father, but he is less willing to endure menial work in the face of royals despite how desperately he wishes to escape their lower class.

This means everything to him. He could carry a proper sword, don silver armor, and not be looked down upon.

Genji craves the heavy hilt of a true steel blade in his palms, too. He longs for the day that others look upon his face and are not repulsed by his scars for they know of his actions.

He waits for the hour of which he could even be considered an option for someone as regal as Princess Angela.

Hanzo’s fervently is not his alone.

“We have less than three weeks journey left,” he speaks like a cold wind. “Already, we have encountered too many of King Akande’s soldiers, and have put the princess in needless risk.”

“Yes, but we have escaped without notice,” Genji insists.

That in itself is better than any worst case scenarios. The encounter in Busan was less than ideal, but it was unavoidable. Still, no one called out the princess by name and struck at her. That is all that Genji cares for. They can survive by close calls and near scrapes, just so long as the princess is protected.

“Genji,” he snarls. His tone echoes into the air, hardening Genji’s expression in the moonless night. His curl lips and wrinkled brow slowly give away to hardship. A glimpse of what the struggle is like for his brother appears before washing away with his next blink. His eyes are no less marbled, but restricted.

“This is important,” he says. “Our father is risking everything.”

Father. He’s worried about him as well. Genji’s shoulders drew taunt as they fled Hanamura, leaving marching soldiers behind them. Their father still works in the stronghold, writing letters to help them and the princess along their way. He should be, in any case.

It’s difficult to see his father as weak, or frail. In Genji’s eyes, his father has stood taller than him, stronger than him, for his entire life. He can handle whatever will come his way, but his heart constricts in knowing that housing the escaped princess puts his father into immediate danger.

They must be like him, to protect their kingdom, and their leaders. Sojiro would rebuke them both for wasting a moment worrying over him.

“Father is safe,” Genji’s voice is low, but not entirely soft. His own fear slips out between his teeth as to reassure Hanzo that he is not alone in concern. “He has faced just as terrible things before. You and I both know he is not one to accept defeat.”

Genji pulls on a grin. Hanzo’s annoyance hardens his brow, but it’s the kind that prevents him from smiling back.

“Yes,” he mutters, then straightens. “We must return to the princess.”

Stepping away from his hand, Hanzo marches away like a soldier. Genji remains, breathing out for a long moment. He glances up to the window that glows faintly with candle light. No one can at least climb up the second story to slip in from the window. They must only worry of someone breaking down the door, but this town is quiet.

Tonight should be just as quiet.

Genji returns to the doorway of the tavern. Stepping inside, he knows Hanzo has already retreated to his designated room. It’s late, but one, big bosom barmaid cleans platters before facing him as he approaches the bar. He has to keep his gaze elevated as he requests two pints of milk and honey. She complies with little words, and takes a luxurious amount of time making it. The price is far too steep and the drinks too frivolous, but Genji leaves coins on the counter in exchange for the cold pints.

It’s not fine wine poured into silver chalices, but Genji remembers the drink as something soothing. The sun beat down upon them as their riding dragged on over dirt roads. The soreness from the saddles and few rests would wear on any soul. She’d enjoy a small treat, or so Genji hopes. Her sweet tooth wasn’t exactly a secret in the castle. It’s not chocolate and regrets not being able to find some along their journey so far, but this is all he can give.

The upper level is silent as a few lanterns cast light along the walls. Gently, he taps on the princess’s door with the knuckles holding one pint. Her soft voice invites him inside. He presses a shoulder blade to the wood, pushing it open while stepping backwards.

Beside the pitiful hearth, a warm fire blazes. Hanzo must have set it for her before retreating to his room. Princess Angela kneels beside it. Her green riding dress is clean and draped around her. She took her time scrubbing dirt and dust from it, but she’d look beautiful in a potato bin. One hand props her up as her legs curl up at her side, the other arm draped across her lap.

“Hello, Genji,” she greets.

The flickering flames reflects in her eyes, like a bright bird against the blue sky. The softest, weariest smile touches her lips as she curiously examines the large cups he holds.

“Princess, would you like a drink?”

“Of beer?” she questions, almost startled.

“No,” he quickly interjects. “It’s milk and honey. I would make this sometimes when I and the other servants had to work early in the mornings, or late.”

He pauses. Her shoulders lower in a loose breath, but Genji slowly works his jaw.

“Unless you want beer?”

“Oh no,” she holds up a palm. “No. I was only curious. I simply didn’t think you would drink alcohol in such a dire situation.”

“I wouldn’t,” he agrees. He comes to her side, and bows slightly as to hand her the worn pint. “I would gladly get you some if you decide otherwise.”

“Thank you, but no.”

Her fingers wrap around the pint, overlapping with his own before he retreats. Yet, the impression of soft skin dances over his harden knuckles. She studies the off white liquid before taking a sip. Slowly, Genji straightens. He clasps his own mug with both hands, but doesn’t drink from it yet, wondering if he overstepped himself by getting a drink meant for him as well.

She breathes out a quiet ‘ah’ after a second sip. Silently, she clutches the pint close to her lips.

“I wouldn’t want to intoxicate myself alone, either,” Princess Angela gives offhandedly.

The smallest wave of relief touches Genji’s center.

Lifting her chin, she looks to him. His lips trembles, threatening laughter at the small line of white on her upper lift, but he contains himself to a grin.

“What?” she questions, lifting her brow.

“Your Highness must be enjoying her drink,” he says, gesturing to her mouth before she starts. Sheepishly, she uses her sleeve to wipe at her mouth before pausing at the stain now embedded on the cloth.

“Oh my, you would think me improper and not raised in a castle,” she says, embarrassed.

“Don’t worry yourself,” Genji says, still grinning. “If I may be so bold as to say so, I enjoy seeing a royal be like anyone else.”

“Oh?” she quirks an eyebrow, gleaming with mirth as the fire dances across her features. “Sit down and explain to me that cryptic meaning.”

He hesitates for only a moment. Hanzo would rebuke him for even considering the idea, but Genji lowers himself to the floor, keeping a delicate space between their legs. Shifting his grip on his mug, Genji holds himself in the fire’s light.

“I don’t mean to offend, Princess,” he begins.

“Of course not,” she says, inviting him to continue.

“So many of the higher class are very proper and perfect, but I suppose most are seen from afar.”

A quiet disagreement travels across her cheeks, but she says nothing in waiting for his next words.

“I would never see a seated royal in the castle dip their upper lip in honey milk with so little concern of others watching,” he speaks honestly, aware of how intently the princess leans forward in the slightest. “You are bold.”

“Bold?” she questions in disbelief. “I hardly feel so. I hate to confess that if I were back in my home, I would have been more careful of how I drank, but so much has changed now.”

Genji bites his tongue, cursing himself for bringing up a tender subject when just moments ago, the princess was smiling.

She looks to the fire, solemn in its orange burning.

“The life I once led had to be carefully held. I know most think that the life of a princess is easy and carefree, but there are many responsibilities I am prepared for and that I currently hold. I must give confidence to my people, those in and out of the court, that I am strong and capable.”

The softest tremble at the end of her voice doesn’t slip past Genji without notice. His heart sinks, refusing to see another tear fall down her cheek as it did that one night.

“Princess,” he tries. The silence of her throat allows him to continue. “I didn’t mean to insinuate that your life is without difficulties. I was hoping to convey that I see you more as real, rather than a figurehead that is meant to ominously operate behind a purple curtain.”

She slowly looks to him, softening eyelashes falling once. His words are of honesty. He has known little others of her rank that would care to be kind and decent to someone of his class. She is truly someone he respect, and would go to war if she commanded it so.

“Genji…”

He can ease the downtrodden mood yet.

“Appearing bold when you don’t feel so is brave in and of itself,” he says. “Sometimes that is all one can do, and you’ve done it well.”

In the face of scrutiny, in quiet insults, he has bared the worst of invisible whips and heavy bars. It is probably not his place to say so, but he still does, if only to calm her anxieties.

The beginning of a blooming smile touches her mouth. His heart skips a beat.

“I suppose you’re right,” she sighs. “Thank you, Genji.”

He dips his head, reveling in her gentle voice speaking gratitude like flower petals falling in spring. Seeing his untouched drink, and hoping to lighten the mood, Genji takes a large drink, purposely spilling milk onto his top lip.

When he lowers his mug, and faces the Princess, she too, hides her humor behind a large smile.

“My royal guard must be enjoying his drink as well,” she breathes in quiet laughter.

He attempts to look down his own face, earning another bout of laughter from the princess before he uses his sleeve as well to clean his mouth. Even among his scars, he can make her happy. The somberness lifts as the last of echoing humor bounces over the heat of the fire. Princess Angela finishes her drink with lighter cheekbones and a gentle tease as Genji does the same.

He must admit, the title of royal guard over his head sounds like a dream.

By the time the pints have been emptied and the fire is beginning to die, Princess Angela’s head dips in exhaustion. Getting to his feet, Genji silently stokes and adds more logs to the fire. She watches sleepily, but doesn’t stir until he reaches down to take the mugs.

“You should rest, Princess,” he says.

She nods slowly. He offers his hand, palm up and fingers loosely held together. Her regard for his rough and worn palm may be the reason for her slow acceptance, but the smooth slip of her fingertips over his skin flies high above any negatives he could dwell on.

“Where will you stand watch?” she asks as she rises up.

Her weight is nothing as she gracefully stands on her feet. He releases her hand a heartbeat later. Facing him in the newly rekindled fire, orange dances across her person along with shadows.

“Inside the room door, or outside. Whatever you wish, Princess.”

Her eyes shine in the half darkness of the room. Her hands nervously lace together in front of her.

“Inside, if that is not uncomfortable,” she says.

Her wish becomes his command.

“No, Princess.”

She nods, and lets him go to give back the mugs they’ve emptied. Quietly, Genji steps out of the room with a lighter soul.

How can her hands be so soft? The thought immediately causes him to close his eyes, as he can’t daydream now. He hurries to the stairs.

She is quite lovely to speak to. Through the years before this moment, Genji recalls seeing her, but never exchanging words. A scullion has no reason to speak to a princess, with too many eyes usually upon them were they ever in the same room.

Down the steps, Genji quietly makes his way to the open tavern. Most folks are gone, and the barmaid is finishing the last of the night’s chores. When he holds up the empty pints, she points with her broom to place them on the counter. He does so.

“Hey.”

He stops, and looks at the barmaid. Her brow is narrow, as if she ate something sour.

“Foreign soldiers just came into town. Watch yourself and your friends. Those dirty soldiers mean nothing but harm.”

His hand immediately falls to the hilt of his sword, wrapping tensely around the metal. His hard gaze flickers to the windows but only darkness prevails outside. However, in the faint torchlight leaning off of a merchant building, a smoky gray horse waits. A few items are bundled on its lower back, set for its rider.

Unease hardens Genji’s stance.

“Did you see how many?” he asks between his teeth.

“Too many. Don’t cause any scenes, especially here, alright?”

He turns on her sharply, mirroring her steel expression.

“Will you warn us if any soldiers come inside?”

“Those scum are not welcome in my tavern. If they try, you’ll hear me throwing them into the mud.”

Genji hardly gives an affirmation before he dashes up the steps. He needs to alert Hanzo, then return to Princess Angela’s side quickly. His boots hit the floor in a pounding rush as he comes to the door of the princess’s room.

He stops, torn between where his brother lies and the princess. In his quicken pulse, the noise of odd scrapings and muted thuds echo from the room Genji left the princess in.

He throws it open, drawing his sword. The dying fire throws dark shadows over a black clad figure in a hood pressing Princess Angela to the wall. Black gloves press down around her throat as she thrashes against the attacker’s arms. Her attempts of clawing at their wrists is beginning to slow.

“Princess!”

Genji runs forward, spurred on by her wide eyes. She sees him in the last moment before he slashes downwards. The hooded figure jumps away, releasing Angela’s neck as their black cloak is cut with the smallest smear of blood. Genji is in between Angela and the person in the next moment. Her choking breath, now free, plays like demons in his ears.

His fists tighten around the hilt of his sword as she slumps down the wall, but doesn’t collapse entirely. Shifting once more, his body shields her from sight as she drags air into her lungs desperately. As if she just emerged from being underwater for too long.

“Go to Hanzo, Princess,” Genji shouts.

He has the hooded figure in a corner, between the wall and bedside. Genji’s first attack drew blood, but it isn’t deep enough to slow them down. He keeps the advantage but his blood is simmering. One glance at their black gloved hands tenses his muscles, willing to cut them down.

Her trembling fingers touch the small of his back as Princess Angela shakily gets to her feet. The little contact steadies his stance as she moves behind him. Keeping his position, he shifts as she hurries to the door. His body constantly blocks any access the hooded figure could have to her.

Her voice is now a mangled, hoarse whisper, but Mercy still calls out for Hanzo even as she gets through the door. Genji’s hard eyes doesn’t leave her attacker. They straighten. His sword only cut a bit of their flesh across their back. Now, they draw silver daggers from inside their cloak, holding one in each of their gloved hands. In the shadow of his sword, the person stands shorter than Genji.

“How did you find the princess?” Genji demands.

As much as he wants to charge now that the princess is out of sight, he doesn’t. If they somehow find her, someone else could too.

The hooded figure slides their foot back across the ground and throws the dagger. Genji dives away, rolling with his sword to land on his knees. Rising, he balances on the balls of his feet as a new dagger emerges from their cloak. The low fire keeps their face shrouded in darkness. Growling a breath, Genji raises his sword.

“Answer me!” he demands.

The figure darts forward. The silver blade dances in the fire light as it aims for Genji’s wrist. He pulls away, blocking only to counterattack a moment later. His sword cuts the air in its jab for their body. A fury inside his blood matches the crackling and popping of the remaining log in the hearth.

Their hands were around her throat. Her face was contorted in pure panic of impending death. He wasn’t there for just a second.

Genji shouts as he brings down the hilt of his sword onto their shoulder with force enough to jar them back. A breath of pain escapes them, but gives nothing away of their person. They lean that shoulder back, no doubt dealing with immense pain. As Genji advances, they step around his blade. Their dagger seemingly slips out of nowhere to slice up the length of his upper arm.

He growls in pain, stepping back once but it’s not enough to keep him from lifting his sword. Swinging the blade calculatedly, it almost connects to their knee but they lunge, toppling him to the ground. The hooded figure’s dagger cuts the back of his hand. The surprise of the attack frees a small cry from his throat as Genji releases his sword from the pain. On the ground, pinned by the weight of their body, Genji struggles to push them off. One knee pins his arm to the ground.

Gabbing his sword, they throws it towards the door. They quickly realize their mistake, as an arrowhead glints a deadly gray in the dying fire light.

The person only has a second to roll off of Genji. The smallest second of an object whistling through the air sounds before an arrow embeds into the back wall, but would have pierced the hooded figure’s head were they a second slow to throw themselves off of Genji.

His heartbeat thunders as warm blood pools on his right side. He scrambles to his feet. Blood drips down his arm as a small gasp echoes from the hallway. He finds the soft sound amidst the adrenaline. Princess Angela’s eyes look on from behind his brother, glued to the red staining his tunic sleeve and how he gets to his knees now.

The attacker holds two daggers, but doesn’t move in the sight of the arrow trained on them. The distance between them and Hanzo is too far to physically assault him. Silence is all they maintain.

“Be still, or die,” Hanzo speaks. His eyes are cold, like a gray storm. The stone grip of his fingers pulling back the feathered end of the arrow is taunt. A rush of relief fills Genji at the sight alone.

Genji breathes out between his teeth as he reaches for his sword only to receive a kick to the ribs. Shoved into the end of the bed, Genji stumbles forward as Hanzo’s shout orders him to get out of the way. A glint of silver cuts through the air. Hanzo narrowly leans out of the way, but the string of his bow is severed. The dagger lands into the wooden wall as he curses.

Genji isn’t sure if the person was aiming for Princess Angela, as she’s on the opposite side of Hanzo and where the dagger landed. They must be too focused on the immediate threat of an arrow killing them.

The hooded figure throws another at Genji, this one he manages to evade by diving across the ground to the door. The hilt of his sword finally rests firmly in his grasp. Hanzo shouts. Turning back around to the window, the crashing of glass shattering surrounds the black cladded person as they slip through it.

“No! Stop!” Genji shouts.

Hanzo is useless with his bowstring cut. Genji refuses to throw his sword away in a vain attempt to stop them, not willing to lose his weapon or accidentally kill them.

How did they find her? How did they know she’s here?

If he had been a moment later…

Genji gets to his feet with a curse. He and Hanzo both rush to the broken window. In the darkness of the night, black bleeds into the grass and the roadside as the hooded figure runs. The two story height isn’t that severe, but one wrong move could have injured them beyond mobility. The lucky fool runs without stopping.

“No,” Genji mutters under his breath, then looks back to Princess Angela.

She stands in the hallway still, eyes wide as dark marks begin to color the base of her neck. Her hands rest over her heart, longing to cover her injured throat. His fingers draw into a fist so tight that his knuckles turn white.

“Princess,” he swiftly crosses the room to her. Her limbs tremble in the dying light of the fire but she looks over his arm, like that matters now. “Are you alright?”

She nods, but points towards the stairs. Only then does Genji hear heavy boots and rough voices rising from the ground. The barmaid is shouting obscenities.

“Soldiers,” her horse voice whispers.

His holds out his arm, placing it between the next wave of enemies and the princess. Blue eyes waver, focused on the blood dripping down his arm and fingers.

How did all of these soldiers find them? What careless trail are they leaving behind? He has to get her out of here. They’ll kill her. His eyes fall back to the disarray of locks that fall over half of her face, wild from her struggle.

He already failed her once. Not again.

Genji looks back to Hanzo, who grimly views his bow with the cut drawstring, and the trapped upper half of the building they find themselves. No other exits remain save for the stairs with Akande’s men beginning to climb it. The rooms all hold a story off of the ground. Their horses are tied up front, in plain sight of anyone who seems them beside the road.

He and Hanzo will protect the princess at any costs, but he has no idea how to do so with fewer weapons, and little means of escape.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As King Akande’s men give chase after Princess Angela, Genji and Hanzo, hesitation and remembering gives away the struggles of the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry for taking forever on this update. This week ended up being much busier than I anticipated but it’s finally here! I’ve missed this AU and I’m never been more ready to continue it.

A crack of dry lightning shakes the sky outside the shattered window. The air tastes like electricity and weighs heavily upon their skin, as if the very sky is about to drop. Mercy swallows against the swelling pain in her throat. The impression of dark hands crushing her windpipe still lingers, like black clouds.

It was instantaneous. The moment Genji stepped away, a shadow flitted in through the crack. She turned, expecting Genji but started at the rushing form coming right for her. Her feet scrambled in the room, backpedaling her to the wall. She couldn’t gasp before she was seized.

Hanzo and Genji both turn towards the rumbling of boots and clattering of metallic plates of armor. Downstairs, a woman curses vilely at King Akande’s soldiers. The two brothers move swiftly, each taking a side around her as they usher her down the hallway. At the very end, a door faces them. Without hesitation, Hanzo, still holding his bow with the severed string, tests the handle. It swings open without restraint. Shoving it inward, Genji hurries Mercy into the room and straight for the window.

The glass pane is mysterious removed, and rests along the bed that waits in the previously empty room.

“They climbed in through here,” Genji hisses. ‘They’ being the black hooded figure.

Mercy glances at the window. Their horses are still tied out front. The soldiers are storming the lower level, and it will be only moments before they climb the stairs. The hooded figure is long gone into the night. Genji’s hand touches her elbow, whether consciously or not. He peers out the second story drop and back to his brother.

Hanzo stands at the door. Every inch of his body is coiled in tension as he watches down the hallway.

“We can’t stay here,” Genji says.

“They’re coming.” Hanzo steps inside as footsteps pound up the stairs. He slams the door shut, locking it in place. “We have to get the princess into the woods. The road is too dangerous now.”

Her wide eyes sweep back to Genji as he nods, determined.

“I’ll go first.” He turns to her, sepia irises set in the darkness of the room. Only starlight gives them aid. “Hanzo will help you to the ground, and I’ll catch you.”

“Be careful,” she rasps through the aching of her throat.

Sheathing his sword, Genji throws a leg out the squarish window. Hanzo comes to her side, gripping his bow with an unreadable expression. It’s difficult to get his shoulders through but Genji works until he’s out and falling to the ground.

He disappears from sight. A quiet gasp works through her as Mercy quickly looks out the window. Genji lands on his feet, knees bent before rolling with the impact. Straightening gracefully with a quick jump, he comes back under the window.

“Hurry,” he harshly whispers, arms waiting.

“Your Highness,” Hanzo says.

There’s no time to think, to worry if Genji will catch her or if the ground will welcome her into its unyielding arms. There is no formal delicacy as Angela lifts her skirt. Slipping her legs out first, Hanzo takes her upper arms like a child, holding her in place as her dress catches on the sill and her hips get through without resistance.

She’s falling. A small miracle rises with her nearly crushed throat, as she can only inhale sharply before arms catch her. The impact is only comforting. Her dress flutters, arranging itself around the design of Genji’s hold as she finds his gaze in the dry storm. He’s unmoved, as if plucking a feather from the air.

The scent of sandalwood and musk touches her nose. She trusts the strength of the arms that cradles her back and underneath her legs. Her arm wraps around his shoulders.

“Princess?” he asks.

She nods, breathless. Gently, he dips her feet kindly to the ground. She stands, drawing back her hands as she sways slightly and straightens her dress. A head rush threatens her mind as a dull thud of feet echo across the ground. Hanzo takes Genji’s offered hand and rises to his feet.

The windows in the top half of the inn become aglow with torch flames.

A loud voice shouts from the road, commanding them to stop.

Genji, Hanzo and the princess turn to the grassy lands spanning behind the inn. Open space gives them less than favorable odds. The brothers share a look before urging her forward. She runs, and her guards match her pace.

Several more cries ring out about them escaping. Into the grass, it grows to their knees. Angela’s legs pound, matching the racing of her adrenaline filled heart as she’s forced to lead. Neither Genji or Hanzo allow themselves to outpace her, staying at her backside as a physical shield. For that, she pushes her limbs harder.

An arrow whistles. It strikes the grass a mere foot in front of Angela. She steps around it and continue to the growing line of trees. A forest. Her mind can’t spare a moment to imagine what would follow should an arrowhead find someone’s heart. Genji and Hanzo don’t attempt to challenge her course, so her only direction is forward.

Her lungs threaten to burst and her heart almost leaps out of her throat. The distinct rumble of hoof beats startles the group. Hanzo slows only a second to turn around. He whips back forward, hissing.

“Three horsemen.”

In the corner of her vision, as the wind rakes through her hair, Genji stops. It’s so sudden that Angela digs in her heels and slows. The treeline promising refuge is just a few feet ahead. Hanzo stops and comes back to her side, telling her to retreat with him.

“Get to safety!” Genji shouts. Fiercely, his command rings in the tense air before he returns to the enemy.

In the distance, three men on horseback charge furiously across the grass. Hanzo attempts to usher Angela away, but she stays frozen in place. The gold plated and red cloth men have long, sharp swords drawn.

“Genji,” her cracking voice breaks. She reaches a hand out, but is stopped by Hanzo grabbing her across the waist and heaving her up. Her fight isn’t with Hanzo carrying her to the forest, but watching Genji standing in the grassy field.

He faces the advancing men with a silent stance. He clasps the hilt of his sword, and draws it into the air. The metal rings like church bells. In the grass, his feet shift, braced for the fight. A warrior facing an army alone.

A knight battling a dragon.

No, he can’t. He will be killed. Angela doesn’t struggle, but her wide eyes are glued onto the scene. Her fingers dig into Hanzo’s shoulder.

Helpless. Helpless to save the ones who protect her. Her lips part, silently speaking his name to the raindrop that falls onto her hair.

Dry lightning cracks open the sky with light. The clouds shift as fat drops of rain begin dousing the scene. The celestial dam breaks. The first horseman rides forward, rushing Genji will little issue. He lifts his sword in the name of his war conquering king, and strikes down at Genji’s neck.

He drops to one knee, lowering his head as if bowing. The horse thunders around him. The swing misses. The soldier has no moment to absorb what happened, for Genji jumps up and slashes the tip of his sword through his chest in one fatal swoop.

The horse rides on, passing Genji. He pulls back his sword with a blood stained edge. The soldier sitting in the saddle rides only a moment longer before slumping, and falling down. The grass blades sway, concealing a corpse.

Hanzo sets her down in the foliage of the forest. Her gaze is wide, split in terror as Genji readies to take the next two men on horseback. Downpour still makes it through the canopy of trees, soaking her blonde hair. She swiftly wipes away the strands that fall into her eyes, unable to blink away from Genji for a moment. Hanzo stands halfway in front of her. His gaze is hard, but something strange dances in his eyes. A burning will, and the desperate light of hope.

One soldier draws back an arrow. The sheer whistle echoes directly for Genji’s heart. It sails through raindrops and rolling thunder. Genji lifts his sword as her heart is seized with a dark fist. The flat of his blade catches the arrow, knocking it harmlessly aside. The fletching end sticks out of the grass, failed.

The second horseman beats his horse, pushing pounding hooves as he lifts his sword. Genji stands soaked but angles his sword flat, leveled with his shoulder. A strength steadies his body. A balance and focus born from years of a father’s teachings lies in his limbs. The horseman slows enough to strike downwards. Genji parries, steps out of the horse’s path, and twists impressively on his feet to swipe at the man’s leg. Blood glistens in the falling rain. A painful cry fills the air. Another strike. Genji dodges this one by an invisible space with a swift duck. He doesn’t jump but swiftly leads the end of his sword into the man’s upper shoulder.

Another roar of pain. The soldier drops his weapon. His injured arm gushes blood, hanging uselessly. The man’s other hand slaps the reins. Thunder covers the sharp neigh of the animal before turning, and racing away.

The soldier with the bow and arrow yells ‘coward’. Wounded and fleeing, the man disgraces himself. His bleeding wounds and horse turn away from both the forest and the tavern. From the view in between tree trunks, more men are spilling onto the grassy meadow on foot.

Genji knows he must end this fight quickly.

The soldier’s horse stops ten yards away. Like a demon in the storm, King Akande’s man draws an arrow, but aims for the treeline. Hanzo immediately holds out his arm and pushes Angela into the protection of trees. Her struggle stalls her guards duty, for she must see all of her protectors to safety. Genji begins to run, sword in hand. The whistle of an arrow accompanies the platter of raindrops.

A rough hand shoves Angela down. Landing without grace on her backside, the arrow embeds into the bark of a tree several feet behind where she was once standing. Hanzo’s intense gaze then steps back to her, grabbing her arm and heaving her up. He speaks a half formal apology before ordering her behind a tree.

“But Genji,” she hoarsely whispers.

“That soldier will be stopped,” he says. “You cannot be harmed, Princess. We will both perform our duty in keeping you safe.”

He takes her behind a thick trunk of an oak tree. Hanzo’s words does little to sway her racing mind. Does he have that much confidence in Genji to fight alone, or is there simply no other outcome that he can accept?

“Stay here,” Hanzo orders, stepping away from her side and throwing her entire line of thought into the dark clouds.

He runs back into the meadow. She watches his tied hair bounce with the motion as she peeks out, finally breathing at the aid Genji will receive. In the downpour, she can’t find Genji or the soldier on horseback. Only the steed resides, anxiously stamping hooves in the tall grass.

A flash of gold armor and dark hair ripple through the slippery meadow. Her throat closes.

Genji is grappling the soldier. Hanzo is nearly there. Stepping out of the protection of the trees, streams of rain almost blind her vision before she wipes it away. A bone-chilling panic seeps into her center as she hears Genji shout.

“Get my sword!”

Grass sways. As if clamped up in a hunting trap, Hanzo stops dead. A flash of red cloth skims the top of the grass. Her mind envisions the soldier pinning Genji to the ground. To startle her imagination, a flash of a dagger rises out of the sea of grass. Hanzo still hesitates. A stone like texture comes over his body as he simply watches the fight between his brother and Akande’s soldier.

Why isn’t Hanzo giving aid to Genji? Panic rises inside her chest. More seconds creep by, leaving Genji alone in his battle.

The dagger comes down before the elder brother shouts. It stops for a fraction of a second before he lunges, and disappears into the meadow grass.

“Genji! Hanzo!” Angela’s ruined voice cries out, ripping her vocal cords. Pricks of tears come to the corner of her eyes.

Lightning flashes, blinding the entire scene. Angela runs without thought. There is nothing to give away the outcome. Rain plasters her shoulders. Her eyes desperately sweep the tall grass, begging to spy victory. A sign of dark hair, and a silver sword. Something to give her heart peace.

Several feet away from where the grass is crushed to the ground, Angela slows down. From the lush green, Genji rises to his feet. He straightens slowly, a rising star from the east. His black hair contrasts the flash of lightning that takes over the sky. His back faces her, designed like the marble statues of ancient hero kings. Blood drips down the end of his sword with rainwater. Just as slowly, Hanzo straightens. A diagonal cut seeps blood down his cheek.

Hanzo’s gaze lands on his brother, but not her, who is only a few feet behind Genji. A startled hand comes to her chest. His eyes are wide, almost in a maniacal, frightening way. Angela blinks, wondering what ragged hole she peeks through that reveals a part of this man’s torn soul. Both men are breathless, heaving their shoulders with intense breaths where they stand. A shamefully turn of his head gives Hanzo away. Genji steps forward with his hand stretched out, unaware of Angela.

“Why didn’t you take my sword, brother?” he speaks softly, even through the downpour.

A harsh tremble moves through Hanzo’s body. His fists are curled tightly. A dark gaze lands between the brothers.

“I swore to never touch a sword again.”

Hanzo jerks his head. A lightning strike illuminates her wet hair, and the elder brother’s wide eyes.

“We must get the Princess far from here,” Hanzo speaks.

Genji turns, nearly jumping at the sight of her. Sepia irises drip with rain and something sorrowful before he blinks it away. His black hair falls across his forehead, wet.

“Princess,” he says, then turns back to Hanzo. “The horses.”

His brother is already rushing towards the dead man’s steed. The soldier’s foot is still caught in the stirrup. The last few precious seconds twists Angela’s head with what transpired. Genji steps to her side.

“Ride with me, Princess,” he says. Shifting slightly, he sheaths his sword out of her sight, hiding the red stain.

She nods, reveling in the soft presence of his hand hovering beside her arm. Warm, and alive. He stalls as he sweeps his gaze over her. Her dress plasters to her skin with the rain, and a circle of bruising begins to bloom around her throat, but she is alright. It’s enough to make him sigh in relief before remembering himself. A step away from her leaves her caught in the rain’s chill. The archer’s horse still prances anxiously, but allows Genji to grab its reins.

“Princess,” he calls as thunder rolls.

Soldiers are gaining ground through the field. The forest stands as a silent wall. Angela, with her tongue burning, comes to Genji’s side. Lacing his fingers together, she steps in his aid and throws her leg over the saddle. She’s only there for a few seconds before Genji slides against her backside. He takes the reins, pressing like a shield to her spine, and spurs the horse on.

He’s warm, even in a downpour of rain. His breath falls against her hair and ear. A style of his own thunder bumps between her shoulder blades. Each beat falls into a rhythm with her own heart, calming it with his mere presence.

Once again, he is bringing her to safety.

Up ahead, Hanzo has already mounted the soldier’s horse. He waits beside the trees, watching Genji spur their horse forward. Passing him by, Angela looks to the eldest brother. His brow is even darker than the storm overhead. A strand of hair falls into his face, severing his hard, unforgiving eyes.

Unforgiveness is not towards them, but to himself.

*

“Stop,” Hanzo shouts through the rain.

Genji pulls the reins, brushing against Mercy’s arms as he does so. She shivers, this time from the rain that has been pouring down upon them. Their riding has ceased to hold a value of time. Just away from Akande’s men, far away.

The horse slows, nervous due to claps of thunder ringing constantly overhead. The forest has grown dense but has yet to stop them from advancing. A few branches are dangerously set low enough to hit the riders if they weren’t careful. Nudging the steed forward, the princess and her guard peer forward. Hanzo’s sharp gaze sets upon them.

A lake serving as a moat surrounds a gray stone chateau. A thin bridge of dark bricks is the only access to the towering, impressive building. A drawbridge also stands menacing in the night. At the entrance, two men stand guard in purple clothing and silver armor. Rain makes the structure appear slick.

A noble’s home.

Angela glances back to Genji. He meets her gaze with silent concern.

“Hanzo?” he asks.

“Your Highness, we could find refuge here tonight,” he faces them both. “The weather is making it difficult to continue traveling.”

He’s right. The horses are skittish, neighing at every strike of lightning. The rain seeps into Angela’s bones. She shivers with every breath. Her fingertips have gone numb from the cold and holding onto the saddle.

“Can we trust that whoever this noble is, they won’t turn on the Princess?” Genji asks, but he leans ever so slightly closer.

His eyes have been flickering to her throughout the ride, no doubt aware of each shiver her cold body releases. From their positions in the saddle, his warmth presses into her back. Her eyes close, soaking in the slightly warmer touch. He’s sopping wet, too, but he feels better than the rain.

“There isn’t much options. Your Highness?”

A noble’s home will have resources and loyalty, or it should. Cautious makes her slow to place her and her guards safety in the hands of others. It feels as if the entire world is hoping to expose their throats and slash them open, but Angela refuses to let fear alone guide her. Genji and Hanzo are soaked through as well. Their dark hair hangs in the downpour as their horses anxiously shift between tree trunks.

“You can get warm inside, Princess,” Genji murmurs. His previous vigilance morphs into concern.

She will trust that her people still believe in her, as she does them.

“Let us see if the guards will allow us through,” she speaks, struggling against the cold chatter in her teeth. “Genji, take us first. I will show them who is requesting assistance.”

“Yes, Princess.”

He shares a nod with Hanzo, who waits for their horse to pass before covering their flank. This is something she knows. Her back straightens into a rod, remembering her mother’s teachings when presenting herself to others. The rain plasters her hair to her face and neck, but she wipes it away. Genji keeps a steady pace as she fixes what little she can of her appearance.

Around the lake, they trot a good distance before coming to the dark stone bridge. The two guards spy them through the rain. Their spears lower defensively, facing three rough strangers on suspicious horses. The hand gripping the reins turns into a fist as Genji lowers his other to the hilt of his sword. She breathes slowly as Genji’s tension races along her backside.

“Stop! Who goes there?” one guard demands, ringing metallic in the downpour.

Angela retrieves her gold necklace from underneath her dress with shaking fingers. Despising the cold that gives a less than strong impression, she holds it out into the air. The guards lean curiously to peer at the symbol. The pendant of her family’s crest shines with streaks of raindrops.

“I am Princess Angela, daughter of the King and Queen of Caduceus, heir to the throne, and a descent of the Ziegler family. I demand entrance to meet with who you serve,” her voice rasps but rings through the storm.

Genji stills behind her. Even Hanzo turns a listening ear, surprised. It is hardly anything. She can feel rain coating her cheeks and knows that her clothes are a soaking wrinkled mess. There is no crown on her head and her throat is too weak to be royal.

The two guards swiftly drop to their knees, bowing their heads. Lightning flickers across the sky. As delightful as their new prospects.

“Forgive us, Your Highness,” one asks in a loud voice. “We did not know.”

A breath of relief escapes her heavy chest. Genji and Hanzo both allow their shoulders to lower in the slightest. Replacing her necklace beside inside the safety of her dress, the weight falls over her heart. She nods firmly, as she’s seen her father do a hundred times before while sitting on his throne.

“There is nothing to forgive,” Angela pardons. “You are both performing your duty well. Quickly now, alert your master.”

“Our mistress will need a moment to present herself to Your Highness,” the other guard speaks up now. He rises as the first guard hurries across the drawbridge. “We serve the Countess Amélie.”

Angela leans forward at the name. A spark of recognition illuminates within her.

“Is she the widow of Count Gérard?” she asks.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

The guard allows their horses forward, coming to stand beside her and Genji’s steed as he leads them across the bridge. Hooves clank against the thick drawbridge before clomping against the rest of the dark stone bridge. Hanzo peers behind while Genji surveys the towering stones and spires upon the chateau. It would appear like a ghostly building were it not for the sudden flare of torchlight quickly lightning up the interior.

“That was a sight to see, or rather, hear,” Genji speaks quietly, almost reserved.

Angela shakes her head, arching a brow back to him.

“I’m sure it was. I’m surprised—but thankful—they believed me.”

“Princess, if you wished, you could have presented yourself as a queen and anyone one would believe so.”

He can’t see, but her lips part. The silent exhale that leaves her lungs is breathless in surprise. Most startling of all, a rush of pink covers her cheeks.

She clears her damaged throat, keeping her gaze forward. She doesn’t know what will follow if he sees her flustered state.

Her guards can receive rest, and they can all be free of the rain. If this is the same Countess she remembers, there is nothing to fear. The wife of Count Gérard is not someone she knows personally, for the Count visit with the King on occasion and kept his wife far from the conflict.

A hunting accident took his life a few years back. Since then, his widow has only been whispered about upon gossiping maids lips. They call her the Huntress in a cruel twist, claiming that she wished her husband dead a long time, and finally acted upon her desire.

Angela doesn’t believe such nonsense. The one time she did greet the Count and Countess together, they stood close. An air encompassed them as proper and formal, but there was no mistaking the soft placement of their hands, or the light in their eyes whenever they locked gazes.

Great hope, as mighty as her parents’ kingdom, blossoms in Angela’s heart. The Countess will be as loyal as her late husband was to the crown.

Under an archway, they enter a stone courtyard before a large hall closed off by towering, half moon topped doors. Angela spies several guards standing on a narrow pathway high in the air. In their hands rest fearsome bows. Torches now light up the windows within. The red cast promises warmth and shelter against the rain that still drops upon their heads and shoulders.

The gate guard invites them to dismount, offering his assistance but steps back when Genji lands on the ground. His is the hand she takes as she gets off the horse. Slick fingers grasp her own gently before slipping away. His eyes stay on her less than glamorous face, dripping with strands of hair and rain, before taking his place at her side. For that moment, Angela admires the shine to his dark hair. It retains its spiky texture across his forehead.

The guard takes their horses. At Angela’s other side, Hanzo comes to stand, completing the presentation. Once again, she lifts her family’s crest away from her heart and into the open.

The doors open, rumbling quietly in their outward swing as a small handful of servants and guards flock around the center point of their circle. A few are startled, while others are still waking up.

A tall woman in an elegant black nightgown, covered with a lacy, spider webbing-esque lavender shawl, steps forward. Her hair falls to her hips, ruffled but beautiful in its volume. Sharp eyes pierce through the small party’s hearts as she steps to the edge of rainfall.

Her gaze sweeps over Angela, from the light color of her hair, to the gold pendant presenting her family’s crest. The gold wings changes the glint in her intense irises.

Angela steps forward to announce herself, but the Countess falls into a deep curtsy. Every member of her laborers follows suit, bowing. The two brothers at her sides shift, unused to the display in their general direction. To Angela, the familiarity brings a sense of slight relief. This is what she knows. She hasn’t lost all.

“Princess Angela,” Countess Amélie speaks with cool cords. Lifting her head but holding her curtsy, she continues, “Your Highness is alive, and with that brings the changing tide in this war.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Within the Countess’s chateau, the princess and her guards find a moment to rest, but there’s something Princess Angela must ask Genji.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was hoping to keep the stay at the chateau to one chapter, but this ended up getting away from me. There’s so many unspoken things between Angela and Genji because there’s too much already going on, and it’s going to take time to unravel these pining idiots.

The night is a blur to Genji’s tired eyes. He wouldn’t think it possible, but he still fights the urge to duck and hide his face at the small crowd assembled before them. The Countess invites the Princess into the chateau. Genji and Hanzo keep up at her sides. The last buzz of adrenaline still trickles through his limbs. Left on edge, he regards every man standing with a sword on his waist as a threat.

As they stay in step with the princess’s stride, the Countess regards them with sharp, far seeing eyes. Princess Angela is kept from this little exchange as handmaids come to her side as a distraction.

First, Countess Amélie studies Hanzo. He hardens his brow under the judgement, and the Countess lifts her chin higher in a haughty reply. If it were any other time, Genji would have been amused at his brother’s challenging stance.

When her eyes land on Genji’s face, she leans back by the smallest motion, revolted, surprised. From his temples, to his cheeks and then to his ruined lips, she stares. A small drop of morbid curiosity coats the Countess’s irises.

Genji’s heart turns cold, dropping into his stomach. There, it festers into a black pit that eats away at his lungs. He has seen this before, again and again. A scarred scullion is nothing. A hideous man to stare at then find something more entertaining to watch. A nervous hand itches to rise and cover his cheek.

Before he can, she looks away. Her focus moves on quickly.

The Countess hurries Princess Angela inside, where servants lead her to the bathing room. Her blonde hair drips as Princess Angela turns, requesting her personal guards retrieve the same treatment. Before Genji can speak, Hanzo steps forward, stating that it is still their duty to watch over her.

A slight crease fills the Countess’s brow, no doubt offended that two plain looking men believe they can refuse her own chosen guards. He and his brother stand tall. Their swords are sworn to the royal family. Any moment of temporary safety is nothing that can dismiss their vigilance.

Princess Angela calms the Countess. It may be a trick of her ruddy cheeks from the cold, but she seems relieved. An unspoken trust has been sown, one that blooms between their princess, and Genji and Hanzo. Even the Countess is unable to deny this as she agrees to take only one of her personal escorts to be cared for.

Genji offers himself to stay at her side first. The slightest tension in the princess’s shoulders releases as she waits for him. He makes his way through the servants eager to please. A small motion, like a bird flying in the corner of his vision, catches Genji’s attention. Several servants approach Hanzo, offering to take his bow to be repaired, and relieve him of his quiver.

A black strand of hair falls into his brother’s face. A blade that cuts his expression in half. Among the droplets of water that douses his face, blood falls from a cut over his cheekbone. The strike he took when the foreign soldier went for Genji’s throat.

Hanzo doesn’t meet his gaze, despite how his eyes flicker upon the weight of his younger brother’s stare. An unsteadiness lurks in his joints. He sways when the servants lead him down another dark stone hall.

Genji’s brow knits together.

His sword was at Hanzo’s feet.

He stared at it like a venomous snake. A demon bent on tormenting his soul.

He had the same shock in his gaze when they were boys, and he only stepped back after seeing how much blood was everywhere. It spill out of Genji’s face. Hanzo’s hands shook, rattling until he dropped the small sword meant for learning. It was covered in Genji’s own blood.

Hanzo cannot forgive himself.

Genji is still learning how to forgive him. Yet, he can’t find joy in Hanzo’s pain stricken expressions towards the slightest reminder of the past. It’s in his soul every time he looks over his scarred face. Guilt. It flashes like the lightning outside, blinding his brother’s dark eyes.

He returns to Princess Angela. The handmaids show the way, allow Genji to escort her to the main bathing room.

“Are you sure you’re alright to stand guard?” she asks softly. The bruises on her neck are a lot less frightening in the torch light, but still a dark color.

He looks to her rain streaked face, and how her shoulders shiver. As they walk down a large hallway, she trembles slightly. The blue of her eyes are brighter in the stone walls. His own clothes are soaked through, but the cool air of the chateau does little to attack his body. It is nothing he can’t give to her.

“Yes, Princess.”

She nods. A large doorway takes up a section of wall. A slight furrow of her brow still worries, but she steps inside the bathing room as the handmaids follow. She needs it much more than he. Her body was like a leaf in a gust of wind as they rode through the forest. He couldn’t spare a moment to stop and wrap an arm around her, and give her a little of his warmth.

The thought makes him close his eyes, shoving away thoughts that are unfit for a scullion. Even his dreams are unfair, especially towards the princess.

He takes his place outside the doors. Quiet sounds slips out from the door under his feet of gentle sloshing water and soft murmurs. As time passes, beautiful scents lightly perfume the air. Images of flower petals pressing on her bare skin creep into his mind before he shakes his head and focuses.

She is safe and protected from all sides, for the moment.

The doors open. Genji steps aside as one handmaid hurries out and down the hall. He closes the door, keeping his eyes far from what lies within.

He stands in place until a gentle tap on the other side of the door alerts him. Stepping quickly, his hand eases the door open as Princess Angela steps through. She sweeps the hallway quickly before finding him, and breathes out softly. Her hair is still wet, but it lies with scented oils and falls like golden silk from the combs brushed through it. A night gown of silver drapes her in thin chiffon. It’s longer than her legs, so one of her hands holds up the skirt as to keep from tripping. A gift from the Countess.

“Genji,” she greets. The quiet echo gives away her weary stance.

He dips his head. The beat of his heart slows for a peaceful moment as the handmaids kindly ask the princess to wait a moment. His fear of the cold effect on her skin disappears like the morning after a storm.

This is what she deserves. A glorious castle. Loyal and loving servants to answer her every call. To smell like honeysuckle instead of the dirt of the road and the hair of a horse. War doesn’t inflict itself fairly, and it has taken this kingdom by the throat.

King Akande has inflicted it. He cares not but for power, and to expand his own kingdom.

The Countess sweeps down the hallway. Her entourage consists of the handmaid from before, a few personal guards, servants at the ready, and Hanzo. He is clean, and his hair hangs freely, brushing above his shoulders. New, simple clothes covers him in dry, warm layers, colored purple. His shaken state from the grassy meadow has been scrubbed away in the bathwater. His eyes are slow to meet Genji’s, however. They share a brief nod, still set in their duty.

“Princess Angela, I hope your bath was to your expectations,” Countess Amélie greets in her cool voice. “Have you recovered from the cold storm?”

“It was, and yes, I am warm,” she says.

“That‘s great to hear my home can serve you as well as the castle. I will personally show you to your room.” She gestures to Hanzo with one hand. “Your personal guard insisted that he stand watch outside your doors, but I am offering my own men to protect you.”

Princess Angela doesn’t skip a beat as she smiles politely. It’s not the smile he’s come to know in the brief, rare times he’s witnessed it.

“Your kindness has been overwhelming, Countess Amélie,” she says smoothly. “I have witnessed the capability of your men, and they are most skilled. However, I will keep my personal guards close.”

The Countess nods, clearly unable to understand why she chooses so, but knows her rank.

“Very well, Your Highness.” She dips her head in a small curtsy. “Shall we then?”

At that, male servants come to Genji’s sides. He almost tenses and reaches for the hilt of his sword when the Countess dismisses him to be taken to the servant bathing room. Her company sweeps Princess Angela away without further argument.

Of course. He’s in need of something calming, with his constant reflex to draw his weapon. Hanzo slips through the Countess’s entourage to stand beside Princess Angela, and only then does Genji allow himself to be lead away.

*

In the morning, Genji is a statue. He stands in front of the doors that Princess Angela sleeps behind, and doesn’t move until handmaids enter the hallway. He wears the crisp purple clothing of the Countess’s guards. The moment Hanzo woke him up to trade shifts, he got to his feet with vigor. The warm water in the servants bathing room compared to the cold stream is miraculous. It managed to scrub away layers of dirt and sweat from his skin, and leave him ready to face whatever else may come.

As the handmaids step inside, some avoid looking at his face, or others outright stare at his scars until they hurry into the princess’s room. Clenching his jaw, Genji turns away until he can shut the door, and wait again. It doesn’t take long for the servants to filter out, and a soft, raspy voice to invite him in.

He enters the warm place. The guess room the Countess provided is immaculate, and glows with the rising sun through the arching windows. A storm never seemed to grace the blue skies outside. Princess Angela sits at a small chair before a desk and mirror.

Genji smiles at her soft expression, and the quiet eagerness at his approach. The morning must be loosening his nerves, for there’s nothing to feel but peace here.

“Princess,” he bows.

“Genji,” she greets, rising to meet him.

Her hands are folded in front of her, touching the pale pink fabric designed to be ridden with. Again, the skirt falls past her feet. Another gift from the Countess. Her golden hair is pulled back in plaits and piled upon her head. He cannot name why, but he misses her ponytail. The neckline of the dress is high, concealing the bruises that wind around her neck. He can briefly make out the outline of a golden chain but looks no further than the pendant of her family’s crest.

“Are you still with me?” he asks softly.

She takes a moment before parting her lips.

“Yes.”

She holds out her hand, gesturing to his arm.

“Countess Amélie told me she would make sure that you and your brother’s injuries were cared for,” Princess Angela says, returning her gaze to his. “Was she true to her word?”

Genji attempts to hide his surprise. He thought the additional servants cleaning and bandaging his wounds after leaving the bath were simply a part of the Countess’s orders, and not a direct request from the princess.

“Yes,” he quickly rolls up the sleeve of his arm, revealing the blood stained bandages encasing his limb. “Hanzo was tended to as well.”

“Oh, that needs to be replaced,” her voice rasps. “Come here, Genji.”

The princess gestures to the chair she was sitting in as she steps to the desk. On it is an array of jewelry and perfumes, but also a plate of green ointment and clean white bandages. Genji hesitates before obeying, at odds with taking a seat while she stands beside him.

“Princess?”

“Go on,” she urges gently without looking to him. “I just wish to see that my personal guards aren’t going to fall to blood infection.”

He takes a seat gingerly, like it may be a trap. It was never his place to sit while in the presence of royalty. As a scullion, he always stood, always walked behind whatever noble happen to be in the hallway or entering the kitchen to steal a snack. Being in a more comfortable position than the princess feels wrong.

Turned away from his uncertainty, she neatly unfolds the bandages. The ointment smells faintly of something sharp and fresh, like herbs. She straightens and comes to his side. On reflex, Genji holds out his arm before comprehending the situation.

“I wish to speak to you for a moment about Hanzo,” Princess Angela’s voices lowers into somberness.

A conflict of emotions arise in his rib cage. First, from her tone, dripping with concern. The subject matter doesn’t help either. Then, he stills as her soft hands begin to undo the wrappings. Her fingers, steady as a marble bridge, carefully frees his arm of the dirty bandages. Revealing his wound, the Princess crinkles her brow at the sight.

“Yes?” he says.

“Does it hurt?” the cords of her voice lower as she takes the back of his hand, and lifts it slightly. Genji dares not breathe. A palm like a feather pillow cradles him, unaware of his swirling thoughts.

“Princess,” he almost whispers, “You don’t have to do this.”

“I would like to.” She lifts her head, a small smile playing along her lips before it morphs into a frown with realization. “Unless you wish I didn’t?”

He would rather take another bath in the cold river than reject the care of her hands upon his arm, but he cannot grasp how she’s treating him so gently. He is only a scullion. A guard meant to serve and protect her. Why does she place her attention upon him?

“No,” he says too quickly. Then slowly adds, “I didn’t expect this, was all.”

“You’re certain?” she presses. “I don’t want you to say an answer because you believe it’s the one I want to hear.”

He smiles then, glancing at the healing but still oozing wound taking up his arm. Feeding a royal whatever they wish to hear is done out of fear, or a lack of self-respect endeavor to please. Genji knows neither in regards to her.

“I’m certain.”

She knows to trust him in that regards as well.

“Alright,” she says softly, and takes the ruined bandage. Nothing so soiled or ruin should grace her skin, but she handles it without the shrill disgust he’s seen with duke’s daughters towards a rat.

She dips into the ointment with her fingers. Bitter herbs waft through the air as she returns to him. She takes his hand again, a downy bed. Genji does his best to loosen any nervous aspects racing through his veins, least she sense how quick his heart is picking up. As lightly as possible, she smears the ointment over dried blood and torn tissue. Genji clenches his jaw from the sharp sting that digs into the knife cut.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs.

“It’s alright,” he chuckles. “It’s hardly anything.”

Quickly, she cleans her one hand before grabbing fresh bandages. The handmaids must have brought those to her for her neck, but then saw no need for it. As Genji watches her quiet concentration, he wonders. She leans over him, looking over his wounds without the slightest look of disgust. What other parts of the princess does he not know exists?

Her handling is like the blooms of flowers. In a slow spiral, she wraps his arm. The careful tie at the end of his injury is done with steady fingers. She holds his arm in both palms, both admiring her work.

“Thank you, Princess,” Genji says.

“Thank you for allowing me to help,” she says, lighter. “It’s difficult to watch you and Hanzo risk so much for my sake.”

She lifts her head. Genji follows her eyes, forgetting how close she’s standing. In the sunlight, the oceans of her irises flicker with calm rings. The space between them is filled with musk and honeysuckle. Weakness overtakes him. He falls to the sight of her pink lips. It would be a simple matter to lean forward and close the maddening distance, instead, he leans back slightly.

He’s a hopeless fool.

Genji clears his throat. Princess Angela hums an awkward note as blush erupts across her cheeks. She turns away as Genji takes his arm and runs his fingers along the careful wrap. The sting has long since faded. The bindings will take a long time to get ruined, or jostled.

“Genji,” her quiet voice begins.

Her back faces him, but the mirror on the desk reflects her tucked chin and knitted eyebrows. The corner of her vision pins him in place.

“Why did Hanzo refuse to pick up your sword? He could have allowed you to be killed,” she breathes out with a cold wind.

She did see that, in the tall grass. Genji wasn’t sure after the event. He only saw Hanzo’s wide eyes in the rainfall, and his shaking hands in the mere direction of Genji’s choice of weapon.

Genji gets to his feet. Covering his arm with the sleeve once more, he breathes out deeply.

In the mirror, she lifts her eyelids. Beside her in the silver glass, Genji sees terrible scars covering a young man’s face. The beauty of a princess side by side with a disfigured scullion.

“My brother swore to never touch a sword again.”

She turns, swirling the skirt of her dress. Her eyes struggle to understand.

“Why?”

She must know.

Genji bows his head.

They were only boys. Children. They knew better, for their father taught them well. To hold a sword means to hold their strength, their honor. Everything they love and hold dear is something they must consider giving their lives for.

Hanzo is older, strong. He knew to be careful when they trained with real, albeit, small swords. Genji did, too.

His hand unconsciously rises to his face, brushing over one of the scars that decorates his cheek.

“The accident that befell me as a child… It was because of him.”

Genji was too eager about his new work, fascinated with the insides of the pretty castle even though he only saw the kitchen most of the time. Their father told them it was what they must do to regain honor. They must wait for the moment when they may rise up to the King’s and Queen’s need. Someday, they’ll need knights once again, and they will call upon their family.

He was a storm of fury. Genji’s words only agitated him further. Working in the castle as servants drove Hanzo mad. It’s demeaning and shameful that our ancestors failed his entire family, he had said.

Angry words and taunting sneers that neither realized how quickly turned into something dangerous. That reminder of their eternal loyalty to the crown only redden his older brother’s sights.

Hanzo drove his sword forward, and didn’t stop.

Princess Angela’s eyes widen with horror.

“He hurt you?” her voice asks softly in fright. “There were rumors but I couldn’t believe… How could he have done this to you?”

The scars. Genji still touches his face and forces his hand to lower at his side. Her eyes follow the motion, but in them is not the patronizing pity he’s come to know. The princess has always been honest with her dealings. What’s in her face at the truth of his appearance is genuine concern, worry.

“Hanzo is too focused on what our family once was. Our ancestors were knights until… He went too far with a sword. I love my brother, and he is an honorable man. What he did was when we were both children, and foolish,” Genji explains.

It’s not fair to paint Hanzo in this darkness when he’s served her and aided Genji so much in the past weeks. Even during the years they separated because of Hanzo’s wish to be anywhere but in the castle. Their father made sure they weren’t entirely cut off.

If Genji’s father hadn’t help him through his childhood of humility and pain, he wouldn’t be standing before the princess.

Princess Angela brow still crinkles deeply. A frown touches her mouth as she gazes over him, and touches one of the rings on her fingers. A small golden band, with a sliver of white gold cut through the middle. It’s simple, almost like a wedding ring.

“That’s why your brother stopped working at the castle?” she asks, but she already knows.

Genji nods. That, and he couldn’t take being labeled a scullion.

“Has he asked for your forgiveness?”

Caught off guard, Genji turns away slightly. The emotions that cross his scarred face isn’t decent for someone of her status to view. Being seen in uncertainty, especially for the one he’s charged to protect, isn’t favorable either.

“I’m sorry,” Princess Angela steps back, quietly ashamed. “It’s not for me to ask you that. I… I worry, over you and your brother.”

He returns his gaze, slowly. To find her meekly bowing her head stirs something inside his chest, as soft as feathers and twice as warm.

“Princess, it is for me to worry over you,” he says gently.

Where she comes from is a place of concern. Not for gossip, not for entertainment, but a real care that is given to him. He can’t hold enough gratitude in his mouth for that.

She lifts her eyes. Beautiful blues. “I suppose so, but I must also take care of my people. Without our people, our crowns mean nothing. We wear those in service of them. That is what my father and mother taught me.”

Her finger still twist her ring. In the soft light of the morning falling through the window, Princess Angela unexpectedly slips it off. His eyes follow intensely with how she holds it between her fingertips.

“My father told me a story of the Shimada family,” she begins.

Genji’s heartbeat rises. He stills, as if presenting her his sword for judgement.

“They were strong and honorable knights that served the Ziegler family for generations.” She steps towards him. Genji nearly drops onto one knee, but she only continues. “A long time ago, assassins descended upon the royal family. In the beginning of Caduceus, ten generations ago, some people believed avoiding violence was cowardly, and fearful. They hated how the Queen refused to start war.”

He knows this story. It is how his entire family fell from honor.

“One assassin went after the daughter of the Queen. Princess Ambra, who was guarded by the first son of the knights sworn to protect their family.”

He failed to guard her, Genji thinks silently.

“The knight… I don’t remember his name,” she muses quietly.

“Ichiro,” Genji gives.

His ancestor. He failed the princess, and doomed their family.

He didn’t protect her.

“Yes,” Princess Angela agrees softly, remembering. “The knight Ichiro.”

Why is she speaking of this? Does she wish to remind him what failure means? What her death will spell for the kingdom and for his family, personally?

He stands before her as she handles the ring between her fingers. The lines of her lips aren’t threatening, or distrustful. Her eyes shine softly. Holding Genji’s gaze, the Princess pierces his heart.

“It’s not fair that your family suffers because of one mistake that wasn’t any of yours,” she finally says.

“He didn’t protect the princess,” Genji starts, unable to stop the bitterness flowing from his tongue. “He allowed her to be killed, when he was supposed to protect her.”

That mistake will not be made real again. The sins of his fathers won’t lie upon him, and take once again her ancestor’s death and place it upon her.

“I know,” her voice softens as she holds out her ring. Its weight becomes heavier the longer Genji gazes at it.

“I swear to you that I will have you and your brother knighted. You both have sacrificed so much for me and my parents’ kingdom. As a symbol of my vow, and a token of my gratitude, I give this to you.”

She silently asks for Genji’s hand. He hesitates before giving it. The warm, precious metal falls into his palm, where Princess Angela curls his fingers over it. Somehow, the scene isn’t a bedroom but before a throne. His princess gives her trust to him like a crown of gold.

He is burning. His heartbeat is strong and steady. Under her touch, he feels the strength to take upon an entire army if she commanded it. The bones of his body are hers to raise. The blood in his veins race wildly in her name.

Genji lowers himself onto one knee. This ritual is scared, reserved for knights and the queens they serve, but Sojiro taught him well. The moment claims both princess and guard as intimate, and true.

He frees his sword from its sheath with his other hand. Princess Angela straightens, still holding his fingers. He takes the blade of his scullion sword, and presents it flat across his palm. This he gives, along with his life. Bowing his head, he breathes out.

“This is the oath of a scullion. I will fight your wars with my sword. I will be loyal with my hands, and my mouth to you. I will never falter nor fail, but stand in place in front of you. I will keep your honor and your mercy as you will keep it. I will protect you with my own life and see your days are longer than mine. From this day forward, I will serve my only Princess Angela with honor.”

He is not a knight, nor is she a queen yet, but his vow is set in iron.

A subtle swish of a pink dress presses tension into his heart. He dares to lift his head enough to see that the princess kneels before him, eyes wet as she lowers her hand underneath his own. She supports him, and his sword. Why her eyes shine during their informal ceremony eludes Genji.

“I accept your oath, my scullion,” she speaks hardly above a whisper. A thickness in her voice threatens her to tremble, but she continues. “I cannot knight you properly here, for that is the King’s duty. Forgive me, Genji.”

“This is nothing to forgive, Princess,” he breathes out. So close, honeysuckle floats over the steel of his blade. The steady hold of her hands underneath his sword make him stronger.

“I will have your oath as a knight someday,” she says with the veracity of a promise.

A knock on the door startles them both. Swiftly, they rise to their feet as Genji sheaths his sword. In his palm, he clutches the princess’s ring tightly.

“Your Highness, Countess Amélie wishes to know when you will be attending breakfast,” a handmaid asks through the closed door.

She smooths out the skirt of her dress and clears her throat. Blinking away tears, she smiles pleasantly to the door. The Princess of Caduceus once again.

Genji didn’t realize until this moment that she’s softer around him, more open. She is a princess, and she is the girl he played with when they were both young.

“My guard and I are attending it now. Please go tell the Countess so.”

A soft murmur of affirmation echoes before steps fade away from under the door. In unison from the intimate moment, Genji and the Princess breathe out before sharing a smile. Like children who were almost caught getting into trouble.

Like they once did, years ago.

Princess Angela steps to the door, composure falling into place like a ballgown dress around feet. She touches the corner of her eyes. Any dots of moisture disappear.

As she walks forward, Genji spies a simple black ribbon among other hair accessories on the desk. His quick fingers take it, and slip it through the golden ring she gave him. He ties a knot, sets it around his neck, and allows the symbol of her vow to hide underneath his tunic.

“Genji.”

She waits, smiling in a soft pink. She witnesses his hand fall from where the warm metal of the jewelry hovers over his heart. It waters the budding sensation that has grown in his heart since he could understand what it meant to long for someone. An undeniable spirit fills his chest. Not a ghost of torment, but of peace and calm, knowing that everything will end happily, so long as she looks to him.

The scullion understands something that stirs and quiets his soul in that moment:

He is in love with the princess, and he can never be with her, as he wishes he could be.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Princess and her two guards must continue on, despite the threats lingering in the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part is shorter than what I usually do, but it’s for good reason as you’ll soon find out. The plot is about to kick into high gear, and this is the first stepping stone.

“Sojiro Shimada had informed in a letter that Your Highness is alive, and traveling to the knight Reinhardt’s fortress with his sons as guards,” Countess Amélie says. “I had already decided to give whatever aid would be required for my kingdom, but lo and behold, you appeared in the night like a prophetic vision.”

The Countess sits straight, dazzling in a purple dress of fine fabric that drapes down her arms and legs. Her impossibly long hair is tied back in a ponytail, swinging like a braid of silk. The dark material glistens with elaborate designs, nearly a gown worth placing on a ballroom floor. The long table filling the dining room seats Princess Angela and the Countess comfortably. The empty seats are almost ghosts that present their undivided attention. Even her servants move on silent steps, careful not to offend their lady with their presence.

Angela contains her drooling at the breakfast presented. It’s a common meal in the castle, but from their weeks of travel, it’s a luxury she almost didn’t remember. A slight warning echoes in the back of her mind, however.

This isn’t permanent. They’re no more safe here than anywhere else. Her parents are waiting on her to get help.

“Did he speak of any troubles regarding the soldiers in Hanamura?” Angela asks, for she had noticed the slight perk of both Genji and Hanzo at the mention of their father. They stand against the wall, still as armored statues.

Hanzo had eaten before she and Genji arrived to the dining room. Genji refused to leave and eat in the servant’s quarters, claiming that he can wait, much to Angela’s concern. Yet, his insistence only reinforces the choice she made with him.

He will be knighted at the end of their journey, along with his brother.

“He said nothing of the sort, but I have been informed that many of King Akande’s men are in Hanamura.” The Countess takes a dainty bite, impeccable with every motion and breath. Princess Angela mimics the act, perfectly drawing back to the days before King Akande threatened everything she loves.

“I see,” Angela spares a glance back to the brothers, apologetic. Hanzo remains stoic as Genji’s brow knits in the slightest.

She can’t see it now, but her heart knows what hangs from Genji’s neck. Her own ring, precious in promise.

“What other news can you tell regarding Caduceus and King Akande?”

The Countess has little cheer to offer as Angela indulges in hot, delicious food. Every so often, she glances to her guards who stand still. An unusual edge runs along her center. Everyone in the room is in their proper place, but she wishes to see Genji and Hanzo seated at the table, eating with her. They’re had all their meals together while resting on dirty ground before.

The country seems entirely infected with Akande soldiers, from the east in Hanamura, up to the north parts around Reinhardt’s fortress. Information from days ago tells that the lion knight hasn’t fallen to King Akande’s forces, and in fact, his fortress is thriving with his men and resources. If King Akande has assumed Caduceus is entirely his now, he would be foolishly dismissing this aspect.

Sojiro has also been notifying Princess Angela’s people. His letters reach far and right, bringing hope that the princess lives, and so does their kingdom’s freedom from the warmonger.

“Knowing that you live gives morality to your people, Princess.” Countess Amélie is solemn. Her demeanor is hopeful but cautious at what will come next. “They still look to you, and the King and Queen.”

Angela’s hand touches her chest, where the gold pendant rests underneath her dress. Her throat threatens to close, knowing that her people fight just as much as she and her guards. She must protect them, and keep them free of Akande’s tyranny.

Their meal concludes with sweet tasting drinks. The Countess invites Princess Angela to walk with her to a ledge that overlooks the lake surrounding the chateau. She agrees, but not before she presses Genji to eat himself. He finally relents, and Hanzo follows the royals as they make their way through the gray stone walls.

The sun has risen, and stretches its rays across the lake, allowing it to dance with diamond reflections. Warmth fills Angela’s bones as she breathes in the moist air. The Countess gazes over the view, far into the trees that become the forest shrouding her home. For a moment, Angela wonders if she thinks of hunting, or of her late husband.

“Countess Amélie, I ask for your assistance in these dire times,” Angela speaks, breaking the peaceful ambiance.

“I was very clear in the understanding that I was already giving it,” she arches a brow, before adding, “Your Highness.”

Princess Angela smiles, and nods.

She offers her own men, horses, and supplies. Most, the princess accepts graciously, but she refuses the extra men surrounding her. The strange look on the Countess’s face when Princess Angela turns to Hanzo stays in place, even more so when she asks Hanzo to step forward.

His expression betrays nothing new, but his eyes cut between the Countess and Princess Angela with a burning question. His sharp facade nearly breaks when she speaks.

“Hanzo, do you advise a large band to travel with, or to stay as we have been, with just the three of us on horseback? It is less secure, but I believe time is of the essence now more than ever.”

He knows better than she. Being on the run, far from her parents, was never something her tutors prepared her for. The politics behind wars is what she read from books, but how to lead an army, she knows not.

Countess Amélie’s gaze pierces through Hanzo as he takes a moment. Has he in his life ever been considered as someone influence, especially to the royal family? No, he hasn’t. Princess Angela still listens carefully to him, despite her few reservations towards the elder brother.

He advises against a large band of guards, as that would be difficult to hide from Akande’s soldiers. Since the warmongering king is aware that the princess is still in the kingdom, it’s best to call as little attention to themselves. This way, they can move quickly and remain undetected, as much as possible.

“Thank you, Hanzo.”

He bows his head, and retreats back to a respectable distance. The Countess doesn’t look away from the guard until Princess Angela calls her attention.

“Your men will not be needed, Countess,” she says politely, “but whatever else you can give will be greatly appreciated. We must depart as soon as possible, whenever that can be arranged.”

“It’s arranged now,” Countess Amélie waves a hand.

“Thank you,” Angela breathes. She couldn’t imagine how else they would have continued on without the fortunate of crossing into the chateau. “For keeping your loyalty to my parents.”

Upon stone and beside reflective water, the Countess lowers into a respective curtsy.

“I do this for my Princess as well,” she answers. “King Akande will regret ever looking towards Caduceus, and Your Highness will make sure of that.”

A mixture of apprehension and determination fills Angela’s soul like a river entering the ocean. Her parents aren’t here to guide her, and others look to her for leadership. This is her responsibly now. She settles her nerves, knowing so many others have the same reasoning as the Countess.

She will not fail her people, or her parents.

*

They sit silently, blending into the shadows at the outskirts of the fire. Soldiers dressed in gold armor and red clothes sit around, drinking and hollering crude jokes and desires. The hooded figure is separated from the undeserved relaxation.

The soldiers failed, and so did they. They had the princess, her throat in their hands. It was a simple matter of making her drop, then proceed to the two men who guard her. The idiots rushed too quickly, then were too slow. The sweep through the forest proved futile, and they returned to the roads.

Their shoulder still aches. Bandages wrap around their backside, keeping the shallow cut closed. The one with the sword is more skilled than they anticipated. A mistake that won’t happen again.

They take out a dagger, and clean the edges. Blood stains only one, but there will be more red.

The swordsman was passionate, bending over backwards to protect the princess. He doesn’t know the hooded figure’s goals. It’s not to kill, but to subdue, then take.

King Akande can’t work with a corpse. He has plans for the princess, and she will be grateful for the opportunity once she learns of it from His Majesty. If she’s wise, she will accept it, for her and her kingdom’s sake.

The soldiers will keep marching on. The hooded figure will find the princess again.

*

Princess Angela misses the chateau at times. Two weeks further into their travels, and she longs for anything resembling her home. Strong walls. A duty to constantly carry out. Safety. Her parents’ smiles. In those moments of weakness, she carefully tucks those emotions away like a sad letter, and looks to the dirt road ahead of them.

The horses the Countess provided are strong steeds. Their supplies are plentiful and provide for all their needs. Hanzo’s bow has been repaired with a strong bow string, and rests across his body as he peers across the land. Tall in his saddle, Genji asks her if she’s still with him.

Yes. That is her steady answer.

He nods, believing her when he allows her once more to change the bandages on his arm. The wound is shallow, and heals into a silver line of a scar, matching the ones across his face.

One warm night, Genji’s gaze keeps lingering on her throat. She wonders if he’s trying to spy the gold chain of her necklace when he finally speaks, and confesses that he’s glad to see the bruising has healed. Angela tucks a strand of hair behind her eye, and states that she feels the same.

Sleeping on the rough ground becomes effortless after a day in the sun and non-stop riding. Angela insists now that they move as quickly as possible without wearing out the horses. Agreeing, the brothers keep a steady pace. Along towns and settlements, they avoid Akande’s men. The gold and red soldiers dot the country like weeds. Angela hides her disgust underneath her hood whenever they must pass by other travelers.

A smaller town called Rialto offers new supplies, and freshwater. It’s mostly a farming community filled with rivers crisscrossing over the land and providing for their crops. Princess Angela, Genji and Hanzo slip into the town under the cover of twilight. Torches light the streets as a merry celebration seems to be underway. What for, none of them can guess.

Thankfully, that allows Hanzo to ask one of the people in the street where they might gather supplies. The merrymaker gladly directions them to a stall, but they must wait until morning.

“We’re rallying towards our King and Queen, and the princess!” the man grins. “The princess lives! Akande can call himself king, but he is no one in Caduceus.”

Peering out from under her hood, Angela gazes at the people. There are children, families gathered around a bonfire in the center of the town. Drinks along with food flood her senses of delicious offerings.

Genji turns his head slightly, the side that faces her in shadows from the fall of torchlight. He smiles, and it’s warm. With his eyes, he says ‘Can you see? Look at how they support you’. Over the crowd, even Hanzo lifts with the unbreakable spirit. The grim set hardening the corner of his jaw lifts into something strong, and willing.

In the vision of her people, her parents’ kingdom, Angela’s heart soars. Fears in the dancing, off beat steps of the people in the center of town are trodden under foot and swept away. Her parents are strong. They won’t fall to Akande, and his threats. She and her guards will make it to the fortress, and bring aid to the castle.

This is who she fights for. This is what gives her the courage to go on.

This must be what her father and mother sees, when they perform their duties. Oh, she misses them.

Angela looks to Genji under the safety of her hood, and smiles back. It’s reason enough to dismount, and spend a little time in the air of festivity. Their hope burns so bright if fills all three of their bellies. None of them drink, but they watch. Angela memorizes the new line of dancing the simple people do. It’s nothing of a ballroom, but it’s so beautifully enchanting that she leans forward, nearly off of her seat.

She doesn’t see, but Genji watches her face, lost in the light upon her skin before remembering himself, and looking away. At the chairs they’ve claimed, Hanzo is set more like a watch tower than an observer. Still, his gaze falls into the bonfire and stays there. What he thinks when he sees flames, no one knows.

By the time her guards deem it best to leave the town and find a place close outside to settle in for the night, Angela is thankful. Her soul is restored, revitalized by dancing and happy faces. Before the torchlights are snuffed out, and the three slip away on horseback, a man steps up onto a table. He holds his drink high in the air, like a flag of victory.

“To the King and Queen! And to the princess!” He shouts. A chorus of cheers ring out as more drinks are held high in the air. “May they reign for days longer than ours!”

“May they reign for days longer than ours,” Genji and Hanzo repeat quietly. Both look to her, in that moment, and bow their heads.

Princess Angela blinks away the pricking sensation at her eyes. She nods, and silently fixes her hood to conceal her hair.

In her heart, she sees a golden horizon after a dark night.

*

Angela doesn’t know what exactly causes her eyes to slip open. Maybe a cool breeze slipped through the wool of her blanket. Perhaps, a terrible dream was about to occur and she mercifully woke up before it could be delivered.

As her eyes awake, she looks across the dark floor of the forest. They’re only a few minutes ride outside of Rialto. It’s dark. Perhaps even the witching hour. Across the grass, she spies Genji’s slumbering form, sprawled out on a mat like a familiar mountain ridge that one associates with home.

And over him, a hooded figure crouches. In the faint moonlight, a dagger peeks out like sin. The hand holding the weapon lowers to Genji’s throat.

“Genji!”

Angela gets to her knees, and lunges. Her cry stops the person before her arms tackle them off of Genji. They roll through blades of grass and beginning dew. A wild heartbeat thunders in Angela’s chest. She sees only the dagger, and it cutting Genji’s skin as she and the assassin tumble.

They stop rolling when the hooded figure pins Angela to the ground. Sitting on her stomach, Angela desperately tries to push them off, but to no avail. There is only the night, above and below. Even the dark person looms above like a new moon. They lift the dagger, twisting the hilt in their hand to slam the blunt end down onto her temple.

She’s thrown to unconscious without so much as a struggle.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Princess Angela wakes up to the hooded figure uncovered, and in worry of where Genji and Hanzo may be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me a bit of trouble but I’ve finally got this and the rest of the plot going full steam ahead, and it’s going to be a bumpy road. I was originally planning for about ten chapters for this fic, but it’s become twenty due to the sheer amount of events that need to unfold.

For moments, she dreams.

There are tears in her eyes. Her head rests against her mother’s shoulder. There is no queen, or pretense of royalty. She’s a young girl, weeping into her mother’s arm. She overheard the court speaking with her father about several young princes and dukes who wish to arrange a marriage with the princess. It was only for a few seconds that she pressed her ear against the door, but oh how she wished she hadn’t.

“I don’t want to marry a stranger,” Angela cried.

“You don’t have to, darling.” Her mother stroked her hair. The comfort falling from her lips has yet to persuade her hysterics aside.

Angela knows that she will perform her duty. As a princess, she must take care of her people, no matter the price. However, that doesn’t mean she will be eager to marry a man she has never met.

The door opens. The King steps in, and asks what on earth is the matter with his little girl. Angela sniffs and wipes at her face while the Queen explains the wet tears, as well as a disapproval of the court’s antics today.

Her father knees in front of her and his wife. He takes her small fingers like glass figurines between his. His hands are strong, firm, and unwavering. A steadiness lines his veins that Angela wish she had as well.

“Angela, look at me.”

She does, with red eyes and smeared cheeks. He pats her hand gently, smiling kindly. The smile reaches his blue eyes.

“I never want to see you unhappy. The courtiers speak of things they wish to see happen but can’t perform themselves.”

He wipes a few tears off her face, before taking her chin in his large, safe hand.

“I decree that you will not marry anyone that you don’t choose yourself, my darling.”

A hiccup moves through Angela’s throat before her lips tug upwards. Beside her, the Queen looks fondly between the King and her daughter. She gently brushes back strands of hair falling into Angela’s eyes.

“Whomever I choose?” Angela whispers, a smile breaking over her salty lips.

“Whomever you choose, so long as they make you happy and keep you safe,” the King declares.

Dreams are bittersweet, but this wasn't a dream at all. It happened. She remembers the day vividly, returning to it whenever a duke or foreign prince offered a proposal to her.

Angela moans. Slowly, as if struggling to break through the surface of a stormy ocean, she lifts her eyelids. A dull, pulsing pain echoes in her temple. Her head must be split open from the sheer daze her mind struggles through. The dark impressions of the forest have fled, leaving gold walls and scarlet accents.

A late evening glow slips through cloth. A tent wall. Her cheek rests on smooth fabric, gold as well. The floor to the tent she finds herself in. Is the hammering pain in her skull causing the accents of red over the floor? No. It’s there. A chair directly across from her rises off the ground, holding a person donning a black cloak and hood. A thin, small table rests with papers and a quill pen.

A woman with olive skin sits. The sides of her head are shaved, leaving a long flowing center of locks that drape over one side, and flip out over a shoulder. A mole dots the skin near her left eye. Her black clothing places pressure around her throat, and nearly brings back the bruises on her throat that have healed. A black ribbon laces through her fingers, but something dangles at the end, like a necklace. Looped through the ribbon, a golden ring with a sliver of white gold cut through the middle swings through the air.

Her promise to Genji. Something dark fills Angela’s chest.

Angela blinks slowly, against pain, and the setting sun’s light through the tent walls. Enclosed in the small space, Angela sprawls across the ground. Slowly, she props herself up, managing to swivel her head to a flap guarded by two men. They wear gold armor, and red clothing.

Where’s Genji and Hanzo?

“Princess Angela,” the woman says. She swings the ring on the ribbon back and forth like she’s toying with a cat, drawing back Angela’s confused gaze with a cheeky smile. “King Akande sends his regards.”

Curling her legs underneath her, Angela crumples her brow. She closes her eyes. There was a dagger above Genji’s throat. It was dark. She knocked the hooded figure—this woman before her—off of Genji.

Where is he?

Her skull feels cracked. She lifts a hand to her temple, and winces at the tenderness and bandage covering her skin. She has no memory of it being placed there. A shudder moves through her spine, imagining her unconscious face as someone touched her. The pain is so terrible that her thoughts fall apart the moment they become comprehensible. She mumbles to herself, an unintelligent plea to pull herself together.

“Speak up, Your Highness,” the woman pulls ‘your highness’ between her teeth with mockery.

“Who are you?” Angela finally finds her tongue. “Where are my guards?”

“Sombra.”

The woman tilts her head and crosses her legs, facing her in the chair. The ring still dangles from between her fingers, trickling black water over her ribs. Angela remains seated on the floor of the gold colored tent. She has very rarely ever had to look up to anyone, and in doing so, feels incredible small and helpless.

She is not a true princess here.

“Your two guards are very interesting,” Sombra continues, relishing in Angela’s heavy brow. “They don’t have royal guard clothing or armor. It’s hard to not see the resemblance between them either.”

“Where are they?” she demands, straightening with the grace of her bloodline. Her gaze lands heavily on Sombra, refusing the game she so cheekily lays out.

“You’re no fun,” she complains, and waves her hand.

One of the guards at the tent flap moves. He takes a chair similar to Sombra’s and sets it at the front wall of the tent. The other swoops down. He grabs Angela’s arm hard enough to bruise, jerking her to her feet. Gasping quietly as she’s dragged, Angela’s then shoved into the chair. To sit does nothing to quiet the shrill beating of her heart. At any moment, one of Akande’s men will take a dagger and cut open her throat.

“How’s your head, Princess?” Sombra’s voice raises in cunning genuineness. “I tried not to hit you too hard, but you surprised me.”

She lifts her chin in a silent command. One of the guards exits the tent flap. It billows behind the absence of the man. If Genji and Hanzo were here, they could overwhelm the lone guard and Sombra in seconds.

Angela only glares. Her painful head swirls around what could possibly be the reason for delaying the inevitable. King Akande’s assassin holds her in the palm of her hand. Why not kill her, and be done with it?

Her stomach twists at the thought of cruel weapons being what the guard goes to fetch now.

Is Genji and Hanzo alive?

She bites the inside of her cheek, unable to imagine otherwise.

Sombra’s gaze, a strange purple-blue color, studies her. How long did she follow them? For how long were they doomed to fail when they were almost days away from Reinhardt’s fortress? A thickness gathers in Angela’s throat, but she refuses to let it erupt into her eyes.

“Relax, amiga, I’m not going to kill you,” Sombra finally says, rolling her eyes. “King Akande has special plans for you. You can’t use a dead princess.”

Angela stiffens, staring at the woman who nearly choked her into unconsciousness. Is this a mental game? A hope of living to dangle in front of her then rip away?

“I don’t understand,” Angela says, slowly. “What does King Akande want from me?”

Sombra opens her mouth, but stops when the tent flap opens with a group of men. A jolt of horror through her veins sends Angela recoiling from the scene before her.

Between two guards each, Genji and Hanzo are dragged by their arms. The brothers are chained, bruised, covered in dirt, sweat, and torn clothing. Dry blood clings to Hanzo’s bottom lip as dark blue bruises cover Genji’s scarred cheekbone. Force to their knees, the guards stay holding their arms despite the metal cuffs securing their wrists and ankles to black chains. Genji’s swords are missing, as are Hanzo’s bow and quiver. For a reason she cannot name, Hanzo’s mouth is wrapped in a dirty gag, while Genji’s isn’t.

Her lips part, aghast. Angela stumbles up to her feet, hands reaching out to rip away the chains as if they were only strings, but Sombra steps quickly. She grabs Angela’s arm from behind, forcing her to stare on in horror. Her heart spills anguished blood at the hurt and abused state her guards kneel in.

“Princess,” Genji whispers. His sepia irises apologize a thousand times over in their defeat. He winces as the movement of his mouth tugs at the bruises lining his cheek.

“Genji,” Angela almost sobs.

Her dazed head risks sending her to the ground where it not for Sombra’s clawed grip. The throbbing ache matches the frozen beat inside her heart. Every terrible thing passes before her eyes, a nightmare coming to life. Genji’s eyes cut through Sombra as she holds Angela back, angry.

“Princess Angela,” Sombra breathes against her ear, “King Akande specifically requested that you be treated with civility. However, you need to understand that King Akande’s kindness isn’t freedom.”

Her words pass through her like a breeze. Angela’s eyes drink in heavy chains and the losing wounds her guards bare on their skin. What else have they done to them? How long was she out? Have they given them any water?

“Stay with me now, amiga,” Sombra urges impatiently. “You get to keep King Akande’s kindness by doing everything I tell you to do.”

Angela blinks, holding Genji’s gaze but in a new confusion.

“Excuse me?” she breathes.

“However, if you don’t do what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it, we’ll kill one of these men,” Sombra’s voice lowers. Her sharp fingernails dig into Angela’s flesh. “You were quick to save the one from me. You would do it again, wouldn’t you, Princess Angela?”

Angela blinks. From Genji to Hanzo, she sweeps her gaze. Her feet uselessly stay in place underneath Sombra’s grasp, too pained to rush forward and set them free. Weight matching every stone that creates the castle crashes down on her neck. Angela bows her head.

“Let them go,” she begs in a quiet, pathetic voice. As she hangs her head, the weight of her necklace lifts off her chest underneath her dirty dress. The gold crest of her family leaves her in isolation. “Please, you already have me. They were only doing their duty. Let them go.”

Sombra laughs. The sound reverberates inside Angela’s mind like the final bell at the last hour, closing away any light of the day.

“You don’t get it. They will take on the consequences of you not obeying every order you’re given, if you chose to do so. Understand, Princess?”

A dark hand clamps over her heart, squeezing until there’s nothing left but splattered red across the inside of her ribs. Horror draws the lines of her face. Slowly, she lifts her head to gaze back to the men who swore their lives to her family crown. A part of that oath is to die for it, her, but Angela will see her own heart stop first before they ever bleed.

Her silence isn’t enough. Sombra jerks her chin up, and two guards draw swords. They crouch to grip Genji’s and Hanzo’s hair, ripping back their heads to expose their throats. Neither of them make a sound. Hanzo stares dead ahead, eyes fiercely narrowed in whatever will come. Genji’s gaze only rests upon Angela, still and steady despite the cold sword at his neck.

“NO! Please, no! I understand!” Angela cries out, voice cracking like glass under the pressure of rocks.

“I thought so,” Sombra states.

She jerks her chin once more. The two guards sheath their weapons, then the rest jerk them to their feet. The rattling of the chains is ghostly. Hanzo and Genji move in stiff, dragging steps, as if hurt in places Angela can’t see through the tears in their clothing. She reaches out, a strangled noise leaving her throat.

Their eyes stay on her for as long as the gold tent will allow. Genji whispers her title one more time before he’s ripped the red light of a setting sun beyond gold walls.

Angela slumps to the ground, kneeling. She stares were her guards once were moments ago, threatened and harmed. Letting go, Sombra steps back to her chair. Casually, she brushes back a long brown lock as she settles down.

“Any more questions, Princess?” she asks.

Angela would rather wallow, but giving in won’t protect them, or find them a way out of Akande’s grasp.

“Where have you taken us?” Angela’s voice is nearly silent.

“We’re on the outskirts of the town that was just toasting the King and Queen the other night.”

Her parents. The King and Queen. Her throat closes. Breathing stops in her lungs, frozen in terror. Angela ducks her head, terrified of any answer but is unable to go a second longer in ignorance. Torture is not knowing, she decides. If the truth breaks her, let it, instead of remaining in suspension, always bent, ready to tear.

“Are the King and Queen alive?” her soft voice breaks again.

“I don’t know,” Sombra gives. “I haven’t received any updates from King Akande recently.”

Slowly, Angela lifts her head. A spark, like a candle in the middle of a dungeon, fills her crushed heart.

“King Akande is a man who can’t be denied,” Sombra continues, plunging Angela into an ice cold lake without so much as batting an eye. “If they’re not dead now, they will be.”

A sickness fills her stomach. Acid burns the back of her throat, threatening to drown her until she’s melted into the golden fabric of the floor. Her fingers dig into her skirt, her thighs, harming her skin in time with the pulsing ache in her temple.

“Anything else? No?” Sombra says too quickly. “Put on this dress, then we’ll continue on. Too much time has been wasted here dealing with you and your little guards.”

The word dress brushes briefly against her mind but Angela doesn’t react until its thrown into her lap. The detailed, rich cloth is red, with accents of gold along the threads and neckline. A riding dress for a princess, one belonging to King Akande.

“Where are you taking us?” Angela’s voice asks quietly.

“You’ll see for yourself, Your Highness.”

Sombra stands and strolls to the entrance. With two fingers, she silently orders the two guards out of the tent, but she stays beside the flap. In her other hand, the black ribbon and ring remain. Every swing of the jewelry taunts her, saying ‘look what I’ve taken, and what else I can take from you’.

Angela lifts her head, and stares into her bored expression. Somehow, the world isn’t ending about Sombra, but around the princess.

“I’d rather roll in mud than place that tyrant’s colors on my body,” her voice falls into a low insult, bolder than her actual soul.

A lethal lift of Sombra’s eyebrow chills Angela’s veins. Her stomach twists until it physically causes her to hunch in fear.

“Maybe I did hit your head too hard, for you’re already forgetting the arrangement we have. Should I bring back the one with all the scars? It would be a small mercy to cut his head off, wouldn’t it, Princess?”

She blinks back tears, and dips her head. She longs to see him again, for the reasoning of her heart remains mysterious but strong. Her hands wish to take his chains to melt the cold metal from his wrists, but to see another weapon at his throat would shatter the rest of her fragile composure.

“No,” she whispers.

“Then hurry up with the dress. Before you come up with any schemes, there are men posted at every corner of this tent outside. Don’t try anything. You won’t get far. I’ll be back, and you’ll have on that dress.”

The tent flap flicks sharply as Sombra steps out. It falls with a ruffle of cloth before silence overcomes Angela.

Her fists twist the fabric. The mocking red and gold design physically burdens her shoulders as Angela stares at it. A sob escapes her lips, echoing pitifully in the emptiness left behind. It crushes her bones, bending them until she only sees the chains weighing down Genji and Hanzo.

She gets to her feet, swaying slightly from the pain in her temple. Taking off the purple riding dress the Countess gave to her, Angela loses one of the last of her comforts.

Days ago, she, Genji and Hanzo were clean, fed, and safe in stone walls. Tonight, their very lives hang on Angela’s obedience to King Akande’s men. How she could ever save her kingdom, her parents, much less her guards and herself, falls at her feet in a sharp, silent question.

Numbly, Angela takes her necklace in both hands. Sombra didn’t take this, but she took Genji’s ring, her sworn word.

She presses the pendant to her lips. The warm gold heats her mouth before she lets it fall back over her heart. It’s quickly covered by a sickly red and gold dress.

*

The two soldiers gripping Genji’s arms drag him, then kick at his legs when he stumbles or tries to use his own feet. The metal cuffs cut into his skin, smearing blood along his wrists and ankles. Hanzo is more furious, cursing muffled behind his gag. He wouldn’t stop fighting or yelling, until they tied the dirty cloth around his mouth. Their chains clank like the wails of ghosts to be until the gold tent holding Princess Angela disappears from view.

The forest burns with a setting sun. A red, almost as dangerous as the clothes the soldiers wear, drapes over Genji’s and Hanzo’s face. Through the small army, they’re dragged across grass and dirt to a makeshift post. More chains wrap around the thick, heavy wood, awaiting the brothers’ reattachment. The only proper shelter is the gold tent, at the far end of the trees and through the throng of the enemy.

Genji clenches his jaw as the guards handle him like an animal. Moments ago, he finally could breathe in the presence of the princess, alive and standing.

Her eyes brimmed with horror at the sight of them. Collapsed, defeated, and once again, their bloodline shamed. Her guards, who swore to protect her from the same people who hold them against a sword. As cruel as the men were who attack Genji even after surrendering his weapons, the bruises pulsing with pain through his cheek is a scratch to the wound of watching the princess held by Akande’s henchmen.

He had no choice. The hooded figure, the woman who calls herself Sombra, held no bluff in the blade at Princess Angela’s throat. She had already knocked her unconsciousness, and Genji, frozen in his surprise, couldn’t let her neck be harmed again.

“Don’t hurt her. I surrender,” Genji’s voice was low, hiding the cords of fear for the one he pledged his life to.

He let the soldiers come, and bound his wrist and ankles. Oh but Genji fought when a soldier threw Princess Angela over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes, and with Sombra, walked out of his sight. Her hair dangled in the air, hiding her unconscious face. The soldiers laughed as they forced Genji back with blows to the face, but he still tried to give chase. They beat him until he fell to the ground. One ripped the ribbon off of his neck, questioning who could be so important to him that he must wear their promise from his throat.

To see it between Sombra’s fingers, like a plaything, burns his bones up.

Hanzo. Sombra lead him away from where they slept with clever noises. He was sure he would catch the hooded figure at the end of his arrow, but instead, walked into ten soldiers who attacked. From what little Genji overhead from the soldiers’ cursing, he killed three of them until they overwhelm him, and ripped away his bow.

Hanzo tried to shout. He tried to warn Genji and Princess Angela to run far away, but it was already too late.

The soldiers throw Genji and Hanzo to the ground without concern that their tied arms won’t be able to catch themselves. Genji’s shoulder takes most of the impact with a grunt. Working swiftly, one man each stands with a sword leveled at their sides as another attaches their chains to the post. Like animals. A pride in his soul flares out in disgust. Even while he was working in the castle’s kitchen, he was never treated as low as the pigs.

Hanzo rises, dignity clinging to his haggard frame as he kneels in the dirt. His expression could cut stone. The chains connecting his ankles together leaves Genji struggling to center himself and cross his legs. Heat fades from the day. A cold night waits in the shadows while the horizon retrieves the sun. Left in the growing darkness, Genji and Hanzo remain under the apathetic stares of Akande’s soldiers.

Princess Angela had a sharp bruise on her temple. She stumbled, held back by Sombra. Her sharp nails digging into the princess’s arms sent Genji withering in silent anguish. A sharp reminder cuts into his skin, screaming that he can’t leap to her side and fight off the enemy. He can’t do anything for her. His very life is a tool against her, forcing her to obey.

A soft comfort presses into his sides. She’s not in heavy chains, but her ties are invisible. She still breathes.

Genji looks to Hanzo. His brother’s dark gaze cries louder than his mouth could if it were free of its gag. If Genji whispers, he’ll get a harsh reminder to stay silent with a kick from a soldier’s boot.

King Akande wants Princess Angela to be delivered to him. That much he’s gathered. A tremble rolls down his spine at what a man like him would want with her. That can’t happen. If his heart beats, he will not see the day where Princess Angela must face King Akande as his captive.

Three thoughts like a dagger in the middle of the night pierces Genji’s mind.

If they take Princess Angela to the castle, King Akande might be waiting inside, resting on a throne that was claimed with blood and death. Or perhaps, he could be waiting outside, grateful to have the King’s and Queen’s own daughter as a final negotiation tool.

His last thought is neither relief or dreadful, but simply unknown. Sombra and the soldiers could take them somewhere else entirely, and without any idea of what they intend to force Princess Angela to do.

He shares a silent gaze with Hanzo. Their bloody and beaten faces are mirrors, harmed but far from surrendering their princess. A fire churns in his stomach from the state they and she lies in. They are at the mercy of their enemies, but still alive.

Genji swore himself to her, and his sword, kept away by dirty hands, will uphold it until he cannot bleed another drop.

In the silence that chains and harmed bodies bring, Genji works his mind. He silently counts the soldiers that move about with their weapons. Plenty of horses are nearby, waiting to be ridden. The princess is far from their reach. If he strains to sit up taller, he can glimpse a corner of the gold tent through the small army.

That’s her styled prison. Genji and Hanzo are forced into the open, chained, and secure to a pole.

The more Genji attempts to plot an escape, the metal cuffs on his wrists become heavier.

Some time after sunset, while the world is dark but not yet filled with stars, the army’s temporary camp packs up. Hanzo stirs, watching the scene with sharp eyes. Genji silently tests the strength of the chains tethered to the pole by pulling harshly with his hands, hiding the movement with his body, but it doesn’t give in the slightest.

In the middle of the gathering, Akande’s men take Genji’s and Hanzo’s arms once more. They free them from the pole. A hard twist in his gut both hates and revels that they may bring them back to Princess Angela, but it is not to be. Genji tries to find footing but falls back into the drag the soldiers put him through. Four horses, two mounted with soldiers, wait closer to the gold tent. Through moving bodies, Genji peers. His heart wishes for a sight of white gold hair, or soft hands, but he’s left in a river of blind apprehension.

The soldiers force them to stand before the horses. Hanzo jerks from the many hands holding him. His pride cuts across his face like the black lock of hair falling out of his ponytail. A soldier throws his fist into Hanzo’s stomach. A breath is pushed out of his lungs. Genji’s fingers curl into fists, testing the chains but remains still. Fighting does nothing now.

Doubled over, Hanzo breathes harshly through the gag, earning Genji’s scrunched brow. The same soldier who hit him takes his chains and arranges them so that his wrists are linked, side by side. In confusion, Genji watches another soldier do the same to his own cuffs.

“Try anything,” speaks up a soldier, “and we’ll knock you off the pony so fast you’ll be halfway into the ground.”

A few sneers follow, like snakes hissing with one mind. Genji grinds his teeth together. He silently follows as he’s jerk forward by his chains. The soldier orders him to mount, and he awkwardly does so with his tightly bound hands.

Wherever they’re going, Sombra wants to reach it quickly. Otherwise, he can’t explain the speed of a horse over the exhaustion of forcing Genji and Hanzo to walk miles in heavy chains.

Genji manages to sit upright in the saddle after grunting and straining against the cuffs. The moment he settles, a soldier comes to his side on a horse. The man tugs on the reins leading Genji’s steed. The security of their captivity. He can’t reach for the reins with his cuffs so closely linked. He’s left to go wherever they lead.

Hanzo’s forced to do the same, still laboring air through his lungs. He holds Genji’s gaze for a moment until Hanzo subtly nods. He’s alright, but nothing is.

The mounted soldiers lead Genji and Hanzo to the front of the army. Put on display for all to spit and sneer at. They can do nothing but study the scene before them.

At the head of the traveling company, Sombra rides on a black horse. Her cloak drapes down the steed’s flank, and her hood rises once more to throw shadows over her face. At her side, freely holding the reins and in control of her own horse, Princess Angela waits. Her heavy gaze can’t be mistaken in the fallen twilight. A burst of relief cleans Genji’s bloody rib cage, but it fades like the end of the day.

She wears an elegant riding dress of scarlet, with gold accents. Acid fills Genji’s mouth, for he knows Princess Angela would never willing touch such a vile representation of the warmongering king. Her shoulders press back, stiffly held as if in pain.

She looks back, and in the chaos of all the men on horseback, she meets Genji’s gaze. Her blue eyes are storms, drowning with the weight of the clothes on her skin. She straightens, a daisy poking through dirt at seeing them bound but still here, still alive. Genji whispers her name, silently asking for her wellbeing.

Her nod is a grip of rope as he dangles over the edge.

The soldiers controlling their horses move with precision, placing their bodies to block the princess from sight. Genji attempts to lean or nudge his horse a step forward, but to no avail. It’s another game. A torturous reminder. A blind weapon with which to deal blows.

Sombra shouts the order to move on. Into the night, the red and gold soldiers march with their precious prisoners. In rattling chains, Genji and Hanzo join the wicked parade.

Genji doesn’t find Princess’s Angela’s eyes again, always cut off by a soldier’s backside.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sombra and the marching army take a familiar path, but Princess Angela still doesn’t know what they intend to do with her and her royal guards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m excited to get into this new part of the story. Everything from here on is going to be pretty plot heavy, but that’s not to say some stirrings aren’t going to be fully awaken.

For as hard as Angela tries, she cannot meet Genji’s or Hanzo’s gazes through the marching men. When she turns her head, the men on foot and horseback bleed into a red and gold sea, drowning out her royal guards. Sombra’s sharp order forces her to give up, and look forward. Her hood hides a part of her too happy expression. What they have waiting for her at the end of this journey will be much more exciting than her current situation.

Angela’s stomach twists. The fine red cloth that paints her in her enemies colors does little to ease her worrying heart. What Sombra could possibly have her do under the command of Akande rips slip out from under her when they do stop after days of traveling. The gold tent remains her chest like prison. The soldiers silently sneer at her square neckline or whisper of Caduceus's princess not being fit for the war Akande has brought to her home.

She can do nothing but obey, for fear of what violence will be unleashed upon Genji and Hanzo. Their skin already holds too much bruises and cuts. She refuses to bring more upon them, despite withering in apprehension at what may come.

The injury on her temple slowly recovers, changing from bruises to healing yellow. The headaches remain, constantly throbbing as she attempts to conjure a plan to protect her royal guards. It’s as fruitless as searching through dense, thick fog.

It’s a cruel illusion to ride on horseback at Sombra’s side. Angela has a sick feeling that Sombra knows it, too. Seemingly able to kick her steed and race away from the army marching to a fateful destination, were she not chained with the knowledge that in her attempt, either Genji or Hanzo would be punished. Angela stares down at the reins, and dreams that she races fast enough to reach her guards. She cut their chains before escaping into safety, far from the soldiers.

She’s kicked back into the gold tent at night, until morning comes and Sombra orders her back on horseback to continue forward. In a crawling realization one morning a week into the soldier’s march, Angela’s blood runs cold. She knows this path they’re taking. It’s no different than the one she and the brothers set out on.

They are marching to Eichenwalde, where Reinhardt’s fortress makes its home.

Again, she twists her neck in desperation, but she can find neither Genji nor Hanzo among the soldiers.

“Your Highness,” Sombra calls her attention, pulling her title through her teeth with mockery. “At sundown we will arrive to the knight Reinhardt’s fortress. I’m sure you’re familiar with him.”

Angela says nothing, only looks down the dirt road trailing through trees and sparse, open land. Her teeth press together, afraid a word will give away the growing fear of her heart. The infection gathers strength from the sly smile upon Sombra’s expression.

“Reinhardt is being difficult. Akande would have dealt with him himself if he hadn’t gone to the royals’ castle right away. That is why your presence is needed. You will assistance in calling a conclusion to his resistance.”

Angela’s brow raises, for one precious moment, cheerful. Reinhardt still fights back, and has not been overwhelmed by them. Of course he hasn’t. He’s the lion knight. A spark of heat from a strike of stone blooms in her chest.

“If Reinhardt won’t bow to us, he will bow to you.”

Her moment of joy is crushed under boot like a snail. Angela turns to find the woman’s strange purple-blue gaze cutting through her, as if delivering the final blow in a duel. The rhythm of the horses’ strides do nothing to offset her wordless explanation.

Reinhardt would only bow to her or her parents.

He would be sure to bow quickly if she were at the sharp end of Sombra’s dagger.

The spark that once glowed orange with life is smothered in the cold darkness draping over Angela’s soul. She is a tool to be used however Akande pleases. The perfect leverage, draped in red and gold. Refusal to act as their puppet will throw Genji and Hanzo into harm’s way. They are already in danger, held in chains and bearing the marks of past violence. How can she save them, her people, without sacrificing everything?

Angela lowers her chin, bangs hiding one eye from the worst that has yet to come.

*

Sombra wears the token of her promise, Genji’s silver ring, around her neck like a trophy. As the army enters the towering hill on which Reinhardt’s fortress stands upon like a champion, Angela burns at glimpsing the ring over Sombra’s black cloak. It had to be placed deliberately for the hooded woman smiles like a demon at her aggravation.

The town of Eichenwalde is old and rich with honor and stone workings. Cobblestone streets and mossy covered roofs make the center, before climbing to the bridge that throws hundreds of feet to a harsh ground. The fortress rivals Angela’s home with impressive height and spires. The gate is built for siege, and still holds against Akande’s attempt.

Soldiers who come previously have attempted to smash down the towering door, but they still stand outside its stone walls with failure. The men currently waiting are half the number of the new army refreshing their strength.

A quiet breath of horror escapes Angela’s lips. The entire town has been ravaged. From what she can see, or lack thereof, there are no families, no women or children hiding behind doors and windows. It’s empty, and desolate.

The only glimmer of hope Angela can find is the lack of deathly stink in the air. No bodies or marks of blood give away true terror. Perhaps they only drove them out of their homes and into the valleys beyond.

Silently, she hopes that is what unfolded here.

In a twisted sort of gratitude, Angela is thankful to not be seen by her people in Akande’s dress and among his men as if she is freely riding with them.

In the setting sun, soldiers once again throw up her golden prison. Angela is ushered inside while Sombra forces her to sit and be silent. She, with a few other men, converse and discuss the tactics that have been tried and failed. Their siege against Reinhardt’s fortress have been fruitless, and any negotiations or communications with the lion knight are met with boasts of their downfall.

When Angela catches one voice informing Sombra that the people of Eichenwalde are safely stowed away inside, she breathes out. Her lunges deflate so heavily, it’s as if she’s forgotten how to breathe. Slowly, she touches the golden pendant of her family’s crest. Its weight lines her neck with hope, and worry.

The soldiers have been attempting to infiltrate the fortress, but they can’t find one loose stone to knock down. It’s sealed tightly, with no other entrances save for the gate. Their only tactic has been to starve them out, but it’s proved impatient as nearly five weeks have passed without so much as a moan of needing food. No one can tell Sombra how long it would take for them to run out of supplies.

Angela frowns to herself, looking away from the table that Akande’s men gather around. She’s set nearly in the corner of the golden tent, like a child. As she gazes through the slight transparency of the fabric, darkness begins to blanket Eichenwalde. Angela parts her lips.

Her parents brought her to Reinhadt’s fortress as a child. The King and Queen are old friends with the lion knight, and often sought the reassurance of his support in defending Caduceus should the need arise. Her memories strictly hold the image of a large, towering man with blonde hair, and a large grin. His massive body carried heavy, dazzling armor. A truer knight she has never seen.

Oh but Reinhardt knelt at her feet, and took her small hand in his overwhelming large one. He proclaimed upon his honor that he would protect her, his dear princess.

In their time here, Angela explored the fortress. It was the only magnificent structure comparable to the castle, and still is. As a curious child, Angela had to see everything within it. She wandered away from her parents to the lower parts of the fortress. It grew dark and damp, with the heavy smell of mildew but she wanted to see if there was gold with a dragon guarding it. In previous evenings, Reinhardt had filled her head with stories of slaying dragons, and she most fervently wished to see one.

But she only found an iron door, and stayed there to listen to the slight wind and rush of water from outside. She remembered the river underneath the bridge before the large gate. It must have led her to the river’s side, way below. Another entrance. A secret one, for escaping an enemy's siege if the situation became dire enough.

Angela blinks, before quickly smoothing out her expression. Neither Sombra or soldiers notice her, much less her strike of realization.

There is another door into the fortress, and Akande’s men can never know of it.

Their discussion ends quickly, confident in their ace up their sleeve. Reinhardt is at their whim now. He can’t tell the princess no, especially when the act of refusing places her life in danger. Reinhardt, who has sworn himself to this country and its royal leaders, will give in.

Sombra already tastes the swift victory on her lips.

She sits and writes on paper, taking time to ink in the details of his surrender. Soldiers surround her, often glancing to Angela in her corner seat. A cruel smile is all they can give, and Angela looks away from it.

At last, Sombra folds the message and presents it to one man. The gold and red cladded soldier takes it out of the gold tent and into the night.

“That will inform Reinhardt of the speech you will deliver at sunrise,” Sombra speaks to Angela. She almost starts at no longer being ignored. “I’m sure he’ll be very persuaded to listen to your call of surrender if it comes from your lips, Princess Angela.”

Angela glares at Sombra, her teeth trembling with the urge to scream no. No, she won’t force Reinhardt and his forces to give into Akande’s army. No, she won’t let them hurt her people. No, she won’t be their bridge to crossing over into victory.

But the ring around Sombra’s neck gleams as it states otherwise. Genji and Hanzo can’t afford her refusal.

Sombra’s first move, if Angela even dared to defy Akande’s orders, would be to drag Genji into the golden prison, and set a sharp blade to his throat. In her mind, Genji is the perfect knife to twist through her heart.

Is she wrong?

Sombra promises that she’ll return before dawn to direct her in her speech. Until then, the princess should rest. She needs her strength for what tomorrow brings. Her sickly chuckle follows, racking coals over Angela’s backside..

She stays silent. Sombra and the soldiers leave through the flap. Only an illusion of solitude surrounds her in gold. A lone candle still burns on the candle, throwing deep shadows across the room. Angela numbly gets to her feet when a soldier brings her a sleeping pad. The cobblestone street the army has made their stay on is hard. After all, King Akande wishes to treat her with civility.

Bitterness scrapes over Angela’s tongue. She has no thought to do anything but lay down, despite sleep being futile. The wick stays burning, as hopeless and foreboding as the next rising sun.

Where are Genji and Hanzo now? Still chained, still bearing injuries and wincing from harsh treatment?

What is she to do? She is Caduceus’s Princess. She must keep them safe, and protected. When there is harm befalling her people, she is the one to heal them and mend any future damage.

Laying here in a pathetic heap, Angela is far from what their princess should be.

How can she protect all of her people? How can she protect Genji and Hanzo, and Reinhardt’s fortress? All the people inside, from warriors to children, depend upon her now, more than ever. If she refuses, Genji and Hazno will be killed. If she does as they command, her parents’ and her home’s only hope will be wiped away.

Her eyes begin to sting. As she lays in a red dress, accented with Akande’s gold, she breaks her vow. A tear leaks down her face, staining the cloth of the sleeping pad.

She can’t watch Genji be placed in harm's way again. She won’t let his brother be touched by another fist or blade. His quiet, apologetic stare at her, while bound and kneeling in defeat, rings through her heart.

They both promised each other great things.

Her sternum snaps, inaudible. Her heart becomes crushed underneath the splintering bones and flowing blood.

She just wants Genji, beside her, to look to her with his light colored eyes. She dreams for a moment of his arms surrounding her, and rocking her until the tears stop and she can go to sleep. His voice of a rumbling river would fill her mind like a lullaby, promising that he will keep her safe. His presence through their weeks of travel have settled around her like a calm, morning mist. She wants to reach out and cup it against her chest, him, and his protective stance.

It doesn’t matter that he is a scullion, and she a class far out of reach of his own. There is only a matter of chains and prisons. Of protecting and sacrificing.

If she could, she would give herself up. She would bear her wrists and throat, and give all that flows through her veins. Her soul would be the final price to safe everyone.

But she can’t.

Give up her people, or give up her royal guards. Give up Genji’s promise to her, and her own to him.

She can’t.

Angela touches a tear that has pooled against her nose, and smears it across her cheek.

As the night crawls along, the candle burns to a stump. Her eyes are open, staring at the flap that feeds into fantasies of escaping, and rescuing her royal guards. Everything she could think to offer in return for sparing Reinhardt and the people within his fortress isn’t enough. There’s nothing she can do. Her hands are free but she is tied by invisible strings.

A shout interrupts her circling thoughts.

Through the thick fabric of the tent, a ringing blade breaks the silence of her wallowing solitude. Angela sits up, unsure if she heard right. More shouting echoes. A man cries out.

“It’s an attack!”

Getting to her feet, Angela steps closer to the flap. Her heartbeat picks up with bewilderment. What her eyes cannot see her ears pick up. Rushed feet, more men shouting for assistance to the western side of camp.

Could it be Genji and Hanzo?

A few cry out profanities against Reinhardt. More voices rise into the night air, declaring they fight for the King and Queen.

Her lips part, not daring to hope but unable to contain the leap of her soul. Reinhardt’s men are attacking! Even now, in the middle of the night. Does he know she’s here? Did Sombra’s message spur him to take action? It’s all so fast. The men guarding her tent can’t possible stay put, especially when the enemy is infiltrating their camp.

Pressing her cheek against the flap cloth, but not enough to give away her presence, Angela listens.

“Take the other two and go!”

“But Sombra’s orders—”

“Go before we lose too many. Kill every Caduceus soldier scum you come across.”

A couple of affirmations echo before heavy feet hit the ground running. The freeing of weapons, swords, spears and arrows alike, take over the air like swarms of insects. A hand grabs the flap, ripping it over. Angela barely stumbles back when a soldier in gold and red steps in. His gaze is hard underneath the yellow metal of his helmet. He turns on her.

“Sit in that corner, and don’t move,” he orders gruffly.

His sword rests in his hand, and he uses it to wave to where she will be going. Angela swallows, but obeys. Her mind races as she steps back, unable to be contained to a part of the tent as the soldier continues to peek outside the flap. He tightens his grip around the hilt of his weapon.

There’s only one soldier. The others are distracted. They must be fighting against Reinhardt’s men now. This is a gift, so precious and rare she would only find it upon a royal crown. Bunching up her red skirt in her fists, Angela sits on the edge of the chair, listening, watching. Her patience is paper thin but she clings to it, knowing it will save her royal guards.

A growing rumble of battle edges closer to the tent. More voices, too much to be only Akande’s men, yell with vigor. Screams and cries of attack raise the beat of Angela’s heart. The lone soldier standing between her and freedom suddenly curses. He shifts on the balls of his feet, lifting his sword. He whips his head to where she sits. Crossing the room in large strides, he grabs her arm. His fingers press into her flesh, creating bruises while setting Angela’s heart into a sprint.

“Stay quiet or I’ll cut your throat,” he hisses against the shell of her ear.

An icy chill races down her spine. Angela stumbles as he all but drags her to the entrance. Opening the flap, he shoves her outside, using half her body like a shield. In the dark night, Angela quickly sweeps her gaze over everything.

They stand at the edge of the battle. A few torches are held but most men only concern themselves with their weapons. Over the cobblestone street, before the bridge, red and gold soldiers throw themselves against silver and black cladded figures.

Among the chaos, a hooded figure throws daggers. Angela’s lungs stop as one of the silver armored men falls, blood seeping out of his throat and around a black hilt.

“Hurry,” the soldier orders, squeezing her arm painfully. He pushes her again, and a small cry escapes Angela’s throat.

The soldier suddenly cries out. His hand falls away from her as if touching a red hot stove. Angela catches her feet, and whips her head back to find a feathered dart sticking out of the man’s arm. It perfectly pierced between the plates of armor. His painful shout echoes as he tears through the cloth to reveal deep veins of purple. A lethal poison already takes over his body.

The man cries out again. Rage throws his expression to darkness, and sets itself upon Angela. Her heart jumps as she turns away from his rising sword, and runs.

The breeze of a blade presses to her back, but never through her flesh. A body falls, but Angela doesn’t stop to see who’s.

Through the horses and tents, Angela runs. Genji and Hanzo. They must be here. Where are they? Her shoes click off of cobblestone, blindly racing.

She must find them, to save everyone.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji and Hanzo are still prisoners to Akande’s forces, but they must get to their princess in the heat of battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *comes in late with hot cocoa* here’s the update byeee

Genji’s dozing off when a hand shakes his arm. Bracing for a harsh kick to follow, or to be violently hauled to his feet, he instead finds Hanzo silently pointing to the makeshift camp. His brother’s sharp eyes cut through the soldiers and growing shouts and rings of metal. Genji sits up, brushing shoulders with his brother. They both lean back against the post their chains are tied too, alert. The two soldiers standing watch look away from their prisoners, searching through the masses to find the source of the commotion.

“What’s happening?” Genji whispers, forgetting the black gag in Hanzo’s mouth.

Genji’s chains rattle as he leans forward. A drop of courage overtakes what fearfully beats. The lion knight, and his force. They would come for the princess. They must know she’s here.

They sit in the cold night, watching and listening to new bodies infiltrate the camp outside of Reinhardt’s fortress. Like a careful hawk, Hanzo sweeps his gaze over every racing detail, and whispers what he can to Genji. Genji looks to the soldiers, who are inches away, and would hear the movement of his chains if he tried to get up and attack.

His wrists are so closely bound, but not his ankles. In the air, screams of defiance and rebellion beats to the climbing rhythm of his heart. There is opportunity, and there is his vow to Princess Angela. Akande’s army took them, albeit harshly, to where they were going. If Genji and Hanzo could somehow get free, and bring the princess to the lion knight, they would stand a chance.

A soldier races up to the two men standing guard. He breathes heavily, his sword held out in anticipation.

“You, come with me,” he points, before turning on the other. “You, stay here and keep watch. If anyone comes for the prisoners, kill one and escape with the other far away.”

The soldier throws dark iron keys to the man appointed as their warden. He catches them, almost dropping them. He tries to speak but falls silent when the two race away. Charging into the camp, they join the fray among the tents and the cobblestone road. Battle rages like mad dogs going at each other’s throats. It’s vengeance, and a cry that the citizens of Caduceus will not go quietly.

Wordlessly, the brothers exchange a look. It’s a gift of fate. Neither are foolish enough to forsake it. Hanzo shifts, as subtle as a snowflake falling in winter, taking his heels underneath him. Genji carefully tightens his chains. The noise lessens as he shifts one leg, and the other, preparing to spring to his feet.

As they’ve sworn, they will protect the princess. First, they must get to her side amid the chaos, least Sombra use her presence as a means to subdue Reinhardt’s forces. Genji refuses to find another person handling her like cargo, keeping her back like an animal.

“Hey, sit back down.”

The soldier turns on them, tucking the keys along his waist and underneath the edge of gold plated armor. His glare in the darkness sets on Hanzo. In the few seconds that he stares back without moving, the soldier draws his sword.

“I’ll kill you now and say I had to, scum. Sit down.”

He steps forward as Hanzo’s proud expression never gives. In chains, beaten and gagged, he cannot be snuffed like a mere candle. Genji swells with his strength, begging that the same virtue fills his insides as well.

“Hey,” the soldier steps towards them, within reach, “Sit down or I’ll—”

Like a snake striking, Genji’s foot lashes out and connects with the man’s ankle. He yells in surprise, buckling under the lost support as Hanzo springs upright. Lifting his linked wrists, he wraps the metal chains around the soldier’s throat. He pulls the man against him, tightening the chains. The guard’s weapon swipes haphazardly in shock, nearly catching Genji’s thigh but he narrowly falls back out of reach. Returning full force, Genji goes for the sword. They grapple as Hanzo chokes him. Through the desperate struggle of hands on the hilt, Genji manages to tear it away.

Genji steps back to completely remove any hope of the soldier taking back the sword. A snarl fills the man’s mouth as his hand falls to his waist. He takes the keys, and hurls them far down the cobblestone street.

“NO!” Genji shouts.

He lunges after the dark keys through the dark night. It lands in a clattering heap among stone, far from his fingertips, echoing like defeat. Their only hope of escape from the chains glares back like a glint of sunlight. When Genji tries to step again, the chains on his ankles cruelly yank him back. His hand, desperately, desperately stretches as he falls to one knee, but it’s useless. The keys are too far.

Genji shouts again, the noise ripped out from his crumpling soul. Wide eyes stare at the key that would have lead him to Princess Angela. A stark blackness overwhelms his heart, cementing his family’s failure that continues through him.

A scullion, trying to be a royal guard, and failing.

The distant choking of the soldier Hanzo has finished subduing brings him back to his brother. Genji looks as the man slumps. Unceremoniously, Hanzo kicks his body away before meeting his gaze. He quickly spots the keys. Reality dawns over him like a red sun.

“Hanzo,” Genji says, voice lowered in true defeat.

His older brother, a varying source of anguish, anger, and conflict, because the only beams holding up his failing hands. Hanzo rips the gag from his mouth. Even then, he doesn’t know what to say. The keys are out of their reach, and so is Princess Angela.

Genji failed her.

Princess.

“Genji! Hanzo!”

The voice breaks through his surrendering like sunshine through black clouds. As the battle rages, weapons clanging, Princess Angela races towards them. Out of the enemy’s camp, she runs. Her red skirt falls behind her, whipping in her speed. She exclaims again at the sight. Hanzo and Genji rise out of their own ashes.

In the moment, Genji can only remember the tales of old. Of a lady of war, angelic in nature, descending through the battlefield to give strength and health to her chosen warrior. Her presence revives him, promising another chance to fight. Her invisible wings state that he will gain back glory and honor.

“Princess,” Genji breathes out.

“Your Highness, the keys,” Hanzo directs. His focus is far more sharp than his younger brother’s.

“Oh!”

Angela moves through her surprise. In the darkness and shouting, she darts across the cobblestone. Scooping up keys of salvation, she returns. She approaches Genji and his held out wrists. Honeysuckle fills the air, promising softer things. Genji looks over her, unable to find a scratch or bruise. A breath of relief deflates his lungs. She’s alright.

She hovers over his skin as the key causes the cuffs to drop. The tips of her fingers, like the ends of feathers, stroke the bruises and blood created in their wake. Her eyes waver, as if she’s the one with broken skin instead of him. Genji nods once, affirming he is well before she gets his ankles free, and continues to Hanzo.

Seconds of the fighting stretch for days until both Hanzo and Genji are weightless and free. Genji retrieves the sword previously held by the soldier. Swiftly, they step the princess’s sides. There is no reminder needed that Genji and Hanzo are her guards, and as such, surround her in the fairly open space.

“What’s happening, Your Highness,” Hanzo demands. His gaze flickers between her and his lack of arrows, burning with restriction. Among the tents, men of both gold and silver clash together.

“Reinhardt’s men. It has to be,” Princess Angela says. She sweeps over both their frames, satisfied with their wholeness rather than the bruises or cuts. “The gate is open, but there are too many of Akande’s men in front of it. There’s another entrance, hidden away. I know how to get to it.”

“We’re going to get caught standing out in the open like this,” Genji says, already shifting on the balls of his feet. He holds out his sword, set between whatever may come and the princess.

“You need disguises,” Princess Angela exclaims.

The two brothers look at her, torn between confusion and bewilderment.

“I know another way into the fortress,” she continues, growing certain with the idea, “but we have to get through the camp without drawing attention to ourselves.”

There’s no time, and there is no other option to be considered.

“Yes, Princess,” Genji dips his head, and turns to the body only feet away from where they stand. A quiet noise of horror leaves her lips but Princess Angela turns her gaze forward.

“Hurry,” she whispers.

Hanzo and Genji waste no time. As Hanzo stands defensively over the princess, Genji quickly throws on red clothing. The color feels like the stain on Akande’s hands. Lastly, the gold plates shine even in the darkness, and are impossible to miss. He is the enemy, and no one will be able to identify his face underneath the helmet. Genji steps forward in the facade and back to Princess Angela’s side. In her own red, they appear as if they came from Akande’s forces themselves.

“Quickly, Genji. While Hanzo finds clothes, you need to cut this tent.” She gestures to one wall of a red tent. It’s nowhere near as glamorous as the golden one they kept her in, but its use is still the same.

“Why?” he asks, even as he lifts the stolen sword and cuts the entire wall down. The fabric tears with ease. The rectangular cloth falls, crumpling before Princess Angela takes it, and drags it flat across cobblestone.

“Sombra will know that I’m gone, or already knows that I am. She’ll be looking for two men and a woman in the chaos,” she explains as she promptly lies her body along one edge of the cut cloth. “It’s a rough disguise, but, if you carry me like a rug, no one will suspect two lone men in Akande’s colors running through the battle. It will get us to the secret entrance at least.”

Genji stops in his awe. The idea alone is unstable, and risky at best, but it’s all in the moments of chaos and stemming from her quick thinking. They would seem to be stealing something valuable and deserting their posts rather than two desperate guards smuggling their princess to safety.

“It’s all we need,” Genji bows his head before kneeling beside her.

She looks up to him, her arms laid by her side. Lying in her desperation and burning will, she holds his gaze. He kneels over her. The oath he gave her is a tangible ribbon slipped between their fingers, tugging back and forth.

“Are you with me, Princess?” he must ask.

She gazes up, adorned in red, with her hair a true white gold, sprawled across the cut tent wall.

“Yes,” she says, unafraid.

Her hand, perhaps on impulse, or perhaps in fear, reaches up, and cups his cheek. The tender hold of her soft palm against his scarred face encases Genji in a bubble. There is no battle. There is no desperation or fear. There is something unspoken that nearly springs from Genji’s lips with fire, and he’s almost bold enough to break the untouchable barrier set between a princess and a lowly scullion.

She calmly sets her heart in his hands to be protected.

“Genji,” Hanzo hisses, dropping to his side in red cloth and gold armor. In the darkness and reflections of bold colors, Genji almost grabs the hilt of the sword. It’s his brother. Genji swiftly moves on to explain the plan as he pulls the cloth over the princess. As gently as he’s able to assist, he helps roll her body until the cloth completely wraps her up.. A poor excuse for a rug, but no one will care to understand while fighting.

“Princess?” Genji whispers.

“I’m alright. Hurry,” her voice barely escapes the thick layers of her cocoon.

Hesitation lines the shadows cutting across the sharp bones of Hanzo’s face, but there’s no time to argue. The cries of battle stoke the air. Genji slips his arms underneath the princess’s disguise, and heaves her over one shoulder. She grunts quietly at the effort. Genji hopes the awkward position is comfortable enough to endure until they locate the hidden door she spoke of. His one arm wraps up and around, securing his royal cargo. Hanzo stares at the sight, undoubtedly questioning the very act. There’s still no time.

Genji, leaning his weight to carefully hold out the soldier’s sword, presents it to Hanzo.

“Take it,” his voice is low, urgent.

He knows why the near revolt at the blade crosses Hanzo’s eyes, but it’s pressured in a different fire. Hanzo takes the hilt. His grip holds it like a snake ready to turn on him.

“For my honor,” Hanzo murmurs under his breath like a prayer.

Genji briefly smiles, recalling a time he would have flinched at the sight of a sword in his older brother’s hands. There’s nothing else now but the princess over his shoulder. Soldiers on both sides still clash. A too great of a diversion to not use, and slip through.

Genji and Hanzo step lightly through the soldier’s campground. Closer to the gate, men and weapons liter the cobblestone battlefield. Racing while bearing Her Highness’s weight is a constant test of balance. Genji refuses to let her drop. Securing her with his arm and hand, they run.

They brush the edge of the fight. Hanzo steers their direction clear of two men, respectively in gold and silver armor, striking each other with swords. An arrow nearly catches the end of Princess Angela’s makeshift rug, and Genji curses.

Before the bridge that leads to the fortress’s gate, a small line of stone buildings occupy space. One is open with a square entrance. Princess Angela’s voice slips through the layers of red tent fabric, and orders them to hurry in there.

As she foretold, towards the end of the nearly empty space, a latch lifts up to reveal a square staircase descending deeper into darkness. A few beams of starlight slip through. It’s enough for Hanzo to enter first, then Genji with the princess still hidden.

They almost flow down the stairs in their haste, like falling water. Genji’s heart rises into his throat, so close to bringing the princess to safety. At the bottom, an old wooden door takes effort to push open, but Hanzo manages.

Shouts of wounded men echo far above. Underneath the drawbridge, they cross a ravine in hast. He doesn’t dare say it’s all clear yet, for he can still spy men in gold and red fighting. No one could spy them down, or think to look, but Genji clings to her tent wrapped body and steps quickly.

“There it is,” Hanzo hisses under his breath.

Hard edges still take over his expression, but he eagerly steps to the stone wall. The very bottom of the fortress. Hidden in the shadow of the bridge, a shrouded door between two boulders would be easy to miss. The heavy metal door is barred with a wooden board from what Angela remembers of, but it’s been nearly twenty years.

Genji nearly sets down the princess to aid Hanzo when his fierce kick echoes with splintering wood. In a few more attacks, the metal door swings opens, littered with pieces of rotting oak.

“Hurry,” Hanzo ushers.

Genji steps inside without hesitation.

“We’re inside the fortress,” Genji says.

His voice reaches the princess, for her horizontal body perks in the slightest. Yet, he doesn’t slow. He runs through the darkness, her on his shoulder. Hanzo keeps up but hisses to slow down.

No. She’s almost safe.

Through the dark stone corridor, they rise to stairs. It’s a blur of a maze, climbing up many stone steps and through dark, hidden corridors. The minutes take their toil. The first torch gives away a main hallway. Genji can almost feel the safe haven for the princess.

Two guards shout in alarm at the ‘Akande Soldiers’ breaking in. Genji turns as Hanzo tries to call out to explain. A towering set of double doors made of dense maple appears. Uncaring that they sport the enemies colors, Genji springs forward as Princess Angela whispers to ask what’s going on.

He shoves the doors open with one hand, maneuvering the princess through the entrance. Behind him, Hanzo and the two guards follow. His quick feet take him further within, and only stops when he finds the open court before him.

A few dozen guards have risen, and taken out their weapons. Set center along the back wall of the room, a throne overlooks everything. A once elegant meeting house has been replaced with wooden tables to converse and strategize. Behind the largest table, sits a towering man, donned in armor that still bears the dirt and marks of a recent fight. On his chest plate, a lion head roars silently. To his right, a woman with dark skin and a hood resting on her white hair curiously regards his boldness. To his left, a dwarf of a man glares with one eye.

“Seize them!” a voice cries.

“How did these men get in?” another one echoes.

Genji, breathless, but certain of only one thing, kneels. He takes Princess Angela and the tent fabric in both arms. Gently, as if bowing before a king, Genji lowers the unknown gift before them all.

Hanzo shouts as the first two guards grab him.

“We bring you Princess Angela,” Genji speaks boldly.

Silence echoes. Slowly, the red fabric unrolls. Out of the enemy's hands, she appears. A scarlet dream that unveils the heir to Caduceus's throne. Even dressed in the enemies colors, the entire courtroom falls silent at her white gold hair, and blue eyes sitting up to look around her.

She holds out her hand. Genji gives his own, helping her rise to her feet as several gasps echo. Warmth fills his palm as her fingers squeeze, giving strength, or gathering it. Genji cannot tell. Maybe both. Relief washes her body as she steps forward. Genji falls beside her, ever vigilant.

He, who can only be the lion knight opens his face with awe. Slowly advancing, Angela holds out her hand.

“Reinhardt? Do you remember me?” her delicate voice asks, a flower petal to a raindrop. “I’m not a little girl anymore, but do you still remember me?”

Slack jawed, unable to blink for fear of the vision disappearing, the lion knight takes the large table and shoves it aside. It scrapes the stone floor. The weight means nothing. Nothing separates him from Princess Angela as he steps forward. Meeting her in the center of the courtroom, his one eye dazzles upon her white gold hair. She tilts her head back to even meet his gaze.

“I can never forget my dear Princess,” his voice booms like a siege weapon against a castle wall. Genji would almost swear he was speaking as softly as her, too.

Reinhardt brings a bulky fist to his chest plate, and falls onto one knee. He bows his head. A slow succession follows. Those behind the table fall to their knees. The warriors sheath their weapons in favor of bowing to their princess.

Genji’s heart finally slows. After the quiet bow of his brother, Genji also gets down onto one knee. Princess Angela twists slowly, drinking in the entire room of her devoted people. Her eyes land lastly on Genji, and she finally smiles, hopeful.

**Author's Note:**

> Stop by my tumblr ribbons-halos.tumblr.com and say hi! ♥ I post new chapters/updates on my tumblr first. It was requested that I post this fic to AO3, and so here it is.


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